


Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

by LittleMousling, moogle62



Series: CM Chatfic [2]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: College AU, Exploration of sexuality, F/F, First Time, Pining, Porn, Slow Burn, UST, lots of porn, realizing you’re bi, realizing you’re gay, unedited chatfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 06:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/pseuds/moogle62
Summary: Freshman roommate assignments are a crapshoot. Emily pretty much wins the lottery with hers.





	Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pledging Lambda Lambda Lambda](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142454) by [LittleMousling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling). 



Emily’s first impression of her roommate is: _tiny_. Her second—and third, and fourth, and sixteenth, is: _loud_.

“—going to be best friends. My mom is still best friends with her freshman roommate. Are you going to pledge a sorority? I think I’m going to. What’s your major? I haven’t decided yet. You wanted that bed, right? I saw your bag on it when I came in. Did your parents already leave? Mine are just bringing up more stuff. Gosh, it’s so good to meet you!”

Emily wouldn't describe herself as shy but she's still feeling kind of overwhelmed by everything. It's so _new_ , and she just waved her parents off and told herself she wasn't allowed to cry so soon on campus. She's pretty outgoing most of the time, and she wants that to kick back in. She straightens up and finds a smile.

"It's so great to meet you!" she says, and the other girl beams at her with perfectly straight teeth. Her hair is perfect too, and she's not even sweating even though it's hot out and they're all carrying stuff up three flights of stairs. "I'm Emily," Emily says. "Any bed is fine!"

“Awesome!” Hanna says, and launches across the room to hug her.

Right about then, Emily realizes Hanna’s planning to be her bestie whether Emily agrees or not. It seems a lot easier to just go with it.

***

It's easier, at first, to go with someone else to the freshman stuff, and then, when they both know more people, enough to have social circle options, it turns out they both prefer each other. Hanna likes flats and Emily prefers heels but they're about the same dress size and they can share clothes if they want, Hanna giggling as Emily throws a crop top at her across the room. They stay up late talking in the dark and hold each other's hair back if they get drunk enough to puke after parties. Besties, then, Emily thinks one night, holding Hanna's hand when she's trying to help Emily wiggle out of a pair of heels, and it feels pretty great. 

“I think we should wingman for each other,” Hanna announces out of absolutely nowhere, the week before Halloween. Hanna makes pronouncements about as often as Emily eats food, so that part isn’t new.

“I thought you were waiting for that guy in your bio class to catch a clue?”

Hanna tosses her hair. "Yeah, but I don't think he's going to catch it on his own. You want to help?"

Emily laughs, and Hanna beams at her. "Sure," she says. Bio Guy must be super dense if he isn't immediately all over Hanna but whatever. Boys are weird. "Do you have a plan?"

"No," Hanna says, "but you do! You always do. That's why we'll make great wingpeople!"

Emily is good at planning; that’s a fact. She doesn’t make grand pronouncements of big ideas like Hanna, but she’s great at execution.

Besides. Having a goal at a party always makes it more fun. Nobody else seems to understand that, but it’s true.

"Cool!" Hanna sets her pen down. "Okay, first things first though, you have to help me pick a costume."

“Slutty cat,” Emily says, turning back to her comparative politics reading. “There, I helped.”

“Emmmmmily!” No one does plaintive like Hanna. “Please? I want to go to the thrift shop and maybe the hippie place at the mall. Please?”

"Slutty _boho_ cat," Emily says, and then relents. "Wednesday? I have a paper due in the morning but after that I'm yours."

Hanna claps her hands together. She's always so _cheerful_ ; Emily loves it. She's never met anyone as equally inclined to be sunny with her before.

“What are you wearing? Are we finding you something? We should find you a boyyyyyfriend.”

Emily sticks her tongue out. “I’m going as RBG. I already have the doily.”

Hanna makes an exaggerated horror face. “Emily! I mean, I love her, obviously, but that is _not_ the point of Halloween. Unless you mean slutty RBG, but that feels weird. She and Marty are very committed.”

Hanna props her chin on her hand and studies Emily. " _You_ could be a slutty cat," she says, thoughtfully. "You've got a cute nose. And your _legs_!"

Hanna never seems to tire of complimenting Emily; Emily's almost gotten used to it, enough to only squirm internally. Hanna's _so_ beautiful; the idea that she thinks Emily is makes Emily feel weird and happy and too-visible. "Maybe," she says, hoping to put the topic off until at least Wednesday.

"Definitely," Hanna tells her, and then sighs and opens her laptop. "Okay, okay. Studying. Ugh."

"You'll thank me later," Emily says, mock high-handedly, and laughs when Hanna kicks at her ankle under the desk.

***

The thrift shop in question isn't as busy as Emily was expecting this close to Halloween, so she and Hanna don't have to fight for cubicles.

Hanna, predictably, brings in about forty-seven items, and she wants to model all of them for Emily. "Em!" is called out of her stall so often that Emily soon gives up on trying to move away from it, and just waits near the mirror to observe each outfit.

Hanna's definitely playing up her strengths with these choices. Crop tops; sometimes just outright bralettes as shirts; miniskirts; skirts with slits to the hip. Some of them don't have bras underneath; some, she's got her own push-up bra from home to enhance. Pretty much every single outfit is, like, sex personified. Which is a weird thing to think about your roommate.

Hanna flips her hair over one shoulder, frowning into the mirror. "I don't know if this works," she says, interrupting Emily's thoughts. "Do you think this works? I don't think this works."

She's wearing one of the bralettes and fiddling with the fit.

"Works as a costume? What's it supposed to be?" Emily asks, because "if you mean works to make you look edible, it does" seems like an over-the-line comment. Hanna looks like something out of an underwear ad. Emily can appreciate the basics of female beauty as well as anyone else; she's got eyes.

"Oh, I don't know. I'll figure that part out later. Does it look okay?"

"It looks hot," Emily says, because it does, and because that's what Hanna is going for. She feels warm all of a sudden, like the heat just got cranked up in the store. "Bio Guy won't know what's hit him."

Hanna brightens. She lowers her voice, and Emily leans in accordingly. "And you can't see my nipples, right? Like, I want to leave some mystery."

Emily glances down automatically, and then keeps looking because, well, Hanna's asking her too. "Uh—no. No, I can't. The light in here is kind of weak, though."

"Oh, hang on," Hanna says, and flips her phone's flashlight mode on. She aims the light at her chest. "Anything?"

Hanna's boobs look amazing in this light, rounded and sort of ... softly inviting, the way they weren't in the push-up bra. Emily's never touched anyone else's breasts and probably never will, but she wonders if Hanna's would feel different from her own. More ... elastic, or something. "Em?" Hanna prompts, and heat burns across Emily's cheeks.

She looks away again, and hopes the low light hides how she's blushing. It's not like—it's—Hanna _asked_ her to look, she thinks, and looks back up. "You're good!" Emily says brightly. "Nipple free."

"Great! Okay, now you try on some stuff."

"Oh, I already—I'm gonna get this," Emily says, holding up the white sundress she picked out. It's got buttons down the front, and it's fun and swishy; she thinks she can add angel wings and a halo and be all set.

Hanna skims her fingers down the front of the fabric. "Cute," she announces. "Show me!"

“Uh—okay.” It gives Emily an excuse to step back, to take some space. She feels over-warm; the shop needs better AC, probably.

She changes quickly, and opens the curtain for Hanna to see. “With a halo? And wings.”

Hanna's doing something on her phone but she looks up at Emily's voice, and blinks. "Oh," she says, eyes a little wide. "Like an angel!"

Emily swirls around, letting the skirt flare out around her. She likes this dress: it's light, and cute, and it shows off her legs in a way she's really into. "Yeah! What do you think?"

Hanna’s hand comes toward her, Hanna’s eyes fixed on the dress. It almost touches her, down near her waist, and then Hanna draws it back and looks up. She grins, wide and sudden.

“You’re gonna break some hearts,” she says. “You should let me do your makeup for the party. Please? Pleeeease?”

Hanna doesn't always go full out with makeup but when she does she looks like she should be a beauty blogger or something. She does something with highlighter that makes her look like she might be an actual princess. "Definitely!" Emily says. Hanna's still looking at her, head tilted to one side. Emily feels pink, and pleased, and pretty. She should go shopping with Hanna more often.

"Want to get dinner now?" Emily asks. They can linger out in the real, non-campus world for a while. "We can find a patio and people-watch."

Hanna high-fives her. Hanna loves high-fives. "Dude, yes. Yes!"

Emily glances down at her own sundress, and Hanna's state of Halloween-appropriate near-nudity. "We should probably get dressed first."

Hanna laughs, and heads back into her cubicle. "We'd probably get free drinks like this, though," she calls. Emily can see her feet moving under the door.

"Totally!" she calls back, and goes to get dressed.

***

Emily orders a set of wings online and they arrive just in time for the party.

They're more elegant than she'd been expecting, less bumblebee. The picture on Amazon had not been promising but the price—extremely cheap—had been right. She throws the packaging out at the student centre and walks with the wings in one hand back to their dorm, dodging a few too many dumb comments from dumb men. Boys. She hopes the crowd at the party is better. There hasn't been anyone interesting yet this year—not like Hanna and her Bio Guy. College was supposed to be better than high school for dating, but so far Emily's just unimpressed by the selection.

Hanna's at her desk with a mirror and a small arsenal of makeup when Emily gets back to their room and, when Emily opens the door, she launches straight into questions without even turning round. "Do you think a smoky eye would work with this, or would it be too much? Or would it be, like, good too much? I'm going red lips, obv, but I can't decide on eyes." She's wearing pj pants and a bra, her outfit laid out on her bed. Hanna makes her bed. Emily does not. "Wait, did your wings get here? Let me see!"

Emily hands them over, and Hanna turns them in her hands, admiringly. "Didn't you say these were twelve dollars? They're great. You're gonna look so good. I think I'm gonna do you like Drew Barrymore in Ever After, you know? With the wings across the face? Not as much as that, but definitely pale and glittery. You're gonna love it. So what about the smoky eye, for me, what do you think?"

Emily's used to Hanna's whole ... mode of talking, by now. "I say go for it. It's Halloween, right?"

"Yes!" Hanna shouts, and laughs. "Yes, yes, yes. It's Halloween. Smoky eyes for everyone. Take your shirt off."

Emily isn't usually self-conscious about changing in front of Hanna. They're _besties_. They share a room. She's seen Hanna's tits before, and she's sure she's flashed Hanna when she's been late, cramming herself into clothes to make her morning seminar. Still, she giggles when she takes off her shirt, leaving her just in a boring nude t-shirt bra, totally fine to get makeup on.

"Shake, shake, shake!" Hanna crows, laughing, and Emily gives her a little jiggle, feeling overexcited already, probably from how much planning they've put into this party. She pulls her own desk chair up close to Hanna's whole setup, until their knees are interlocked between the chairs.

"This is going to be fun," Hanna says. "Close your eyes. Primer time."

Hanna's got a whole routine, way more than Emily ever does. Emily only sort of follows it. She catches sight of herself, mid-contouring, and she looks like an alien, or some kind of striped creature. A tiger. "I look like a tiger, kind of."

"Grrr," Hanna responds, too focused on the makeup to carry on much conversation.

She does something with a couple of makeup brushes, soft against Emily's skin, and has Emily close her eyes so she can sweep on eyeliner.

"Open your mouth," Hanna commands, lipstick in hand, and bites her own lip as she smooths the colour across Emily's mouth. Emily's heart beats fast in her chest, under her sensible bra. She's holding her breath, so that's probably it. Holding her breath so she doesn't smudge Hanna's work.

Hanna's fingertips on her jaw, tilting her face wherever Hanna needs her, feel strange and hot against her skin. There must be more nerves there than Emily realized. Although, really, her whole face feels oversensitive to Hanna's touch; she hopes she isn't allergic to the primer or something.

"You look so gorgeous," Hanna says. She's eight, ten inches away, close enough that it's hard for Emily to focus on her, and there's something so intense about that. It makes it one of the best compliments Emily's ever heard; it makes the words settle into her chest like they're going to stay there forever. "Okay. Sit there while I finish mine, so everything sets, and then you can do your hair."

Emily stays put, watching Hanna finish up. She has delicate hands, Emily thinks, absently. Emily's own hands are big—sometimes she thinks they're a little too big, mannish or something—but Hanna has slender fingers, a dainty slope to her palms.

Emily sometimes catches herself staring at Hanna too long. It's just that Hanna is everything Emily wishes she could be. Not just the looks thing—although honestly, Hanna's basically a model—but how vibrant she is, and how curious about everyone she meets. She lights up rooms. Emily wishes she could be like that. It makes her want to be around Hanna all the time.

Emily is flirty and cheerful and smart, she knows, or at least she keeps telling herself, and Hanna—Hanna makes her feel like it. Like she's doing something right. She thinks she read somewhere that's how you know when a person is meant to be in your life. When they make you feel like a good version of you.

Hanna finishes off her lipstick and pouts into the mirror. "There," she says. "Done!"

“You looks so good,” Emily says, trying to match Hanna’s energy. “Bio Guy won’t know what hit him!”

“Should we start calling him Kevin? I feel like nah.”

“Maybe when you guys start dating,” Emily says. It gives her a weird feeling in her stomach. Hanna will be busy if she has a boyfriend. He’ll probably be here a lot, so even when Hanna is around, it won’t be the same.

"He'll always be Bio Guy to us," Hanna says. She turns round from the mirror. "Do you think we will? Be dating?"

"He'd have to be a total idiot not to want to date you," Emily says. "Like, brain-dead. Like an actual walking zombie. Like if a human could have no taste whatsoever in any way, that would have to be him."

"Emmmmm." Hanna looks lit up, radiant. "You're so good to me."

"I'm just saying! _I'd_ date you in a heartbeat." Emily's said similar things before, to Hanna and to a bunch of her friends when they've been down about some guy. Who _wouldn't_ want to date her friends, especially Hanna?

Hanna laughs and pulls her in with an arm around her waist, hugging her from the chair. “If only you were a boy. You’d be way better than Kevin.”

“Bio Guy,” Emily corrects, laughing. “Let go, let go. I have to do my hair.”

She gets her dress on first, turning to the wall so she can get out of her plain bra and into something cuter to go under the white fabric. The dress is short, skimming her thighs, and she's still so happy with it, so happy to have bought it. She has to wear tiny underwear but that's okay. It's Halloween.

Emily straightens her hair and Hanna curls her own, just at the ends, both of them sharing mirror space.

She sticks her tongue out at Hanna in the mirror and Hanna, laughing, swipes at the image. "Don't ruin your lipstick! No tongues."

"I feel like the whole point of Halloween involves tongues," Emily jokes back.

"Fine. Tongue-kissing is allowed _only_ once you've actually snagged someone worth ruining that makeup for. Which is a high bar, so choose carefully. I get veto power."

"Then I want veto power too!" Emily finishes the last strand of hair and sits back, tilting her head to check her work. "That's only fair."

“Deal,” Emily says. Hanna would never let her go home with some douchebag. “Oh, and—“  
she fishes around in her bag and pulls out the slim bottle of cheap gin she’d gotten an upperclassman to buy her. “Do you love me?”

“So much,” Hanna agrees, giggling as Emily pulls out a sack of Solo cups and starts pouring. “This party is gonna be awesome.”

***

Hanna borrows Emily's black heels, the ones that Emily, giggling, tells her she thinks of as fuck-me pumps, and they walk arm in arm to the party. Emily's wings keep bumping Hanna and they laugh, swaying on the path.

Emily sparkles under the streetlights as they walk: she's got highlighter on her cheekbones and her pretty collarbones, shown off by her dress. She's glittery and gorgeous and Hanna can't stop looking at her, both of them pre-party giddy.

"Wait," Emily says, as they near the house, music already thumping. "What's your costume?"

"Can't you tell?" Hanna asks. She fiddles in her clutch, whips out the tiny headband she's stashed there, and grins. "I'm a cat!" 

“You’re ridiculous,” Emily tells her. Emily’s arm is warm against Hanna’s bare side, maybe too warm in this weather, but they’re almost inside anyway and Hanna can make a much better entrance with a hot blonde on her arm than by herself. She giggles and tells Emily that.

“I’m a hot blonde?” Emily asks, and Hanna rolls her eyes.

“Duh. Okay, steps.”

They switch to holding hands to navigate the steps, Emily picking her way ahead in her silvery heels. They knock, even though Hanna's pretty sure no one can hear over the music, and go inside.

Immediately, there's a wave of noise: music, and people laughing over it. Several people turn back for a second glance at Emily— Hanna too, but Emily is radiant tonight, of course people are looking—and Emily links her arm back through Hanna's and says, "Drinks?"

"God, yes," Hanna agrees. That sounds amazing.

There's a keg in the kitchen, and a counter full of mixers and liquor bottles. Emily likes gin; Hanna ferrets a bottle of Gordon's out and starts making her a gin and tonic, and Emily locates some rum for Hanna. They're a finely oiled machine, party-wise.

They link arms to take their first sip, doing that strange twisty thing that always looks better on TV than in real life. It's been their tradition since their first party together, and it's just what Hanna thought college would be like: something new with someone new, a little memory for them.

Emily sticks her tongue out afterwards, pretending to be grossed out by the taste. "You look like a Snapchat filter," Hanna tells her, giggling.

“The dog one?” Emily splutters. “Thanks a lot, Hanna!” She’s laughing, though.

Through the door to the next room—Hanna’s not sure it can properly be called a dining room when it’s only stocked with folding chairs and card tables—comes Aiden from her Poli Sci class. “Hanna! Dude! We’re playing Spin the Bottle. Who’s your friend?”

Emily's looking at him, not without interest. He's cute, Hanna supposes, if not her own type. He's got a goofy kind of smile and floppy brown hair, and smiles big back at Emily, which, of course. Emily's a babe. Still, Hanna's got veto power about any potential frenching and she's just not sure if Aiden'd make the cut.

"This is Emily!" she says, and puts her arm round Emily's tiny waist, propelling them both forward. "She's an angel. And her costume is too!"

“I’ll refrain from the obvious jokes if and only if both of you join the game,” he says, and Emily’s nodding already, so Hanna guesses they’re in.

Actually, it sounds pretty fun.

They join the circle in the other room, Emily having to sit down more slowly in her short dress. The hem rises up her thighs as she settles.

Aiden’s eyes are glued to Emily’s legs, when Hanna looks up. Hmm. She’s increasingly unsure that he’s good enough for Em.

“Make a girl start,” one of the guys says, laughing, and Hanna rolls her eyes and grabs the bottle.

“You’re all cowards.” She spins it.

It wobbles around a few time and lands on some guy Hanna recognises by sight, if not by name. His friends send up a chorus of applause, and she leans up on her knees, smiling. She darts a glance at Emily first.

"No tongues," Hanna says, to make Emily laugh, and then kisses whatever-his-name-is, just long enough to give a good show.

It’s fun enough, with the alcohol making everything feel better, sexier, but nothing special. He’s not worth missing her lipstick for again.

She sits back, Emily warm next to her, and scans the room for Bio Guy. Someone hoots. “She’s already forgotten you, dude! Better spin for someone more in your league!”

The guy laughs it off good-naturedly, which honestly bumps him up a few points in Hanna's mind, and spins. The bottle lands on Emily.

"You're drowning, dude!" someone yells again. "You're aiming too high!"

He’s pretty red, now, but Emily—heart of gold Emily—climbs quickly across the carpet to grab him by the neck and kiss him silly. It’s showy and aggressive and leaves lipstick all over him, and it’s much sexier, just watching, than Hanna’s kiss with him was.

It’s kind of like Emily kissing her by proxy, she thinks. Her own lipstick, layered underneath.

Emily's lipstick is definitely smudged when she sits back, looking proud of herself. Hanna nudges her. "What are the veto rules on spin the bottle?" she asks.

"Hmm," Emily says. "Jury's out?" and reaches out for her turn. She spins hard, and the bottle goes round and round before slowing, wobbly, and coming to a halt... right on Hanna.

Inevitably, there’s an immediate whoop from one of the boys, and then a growing chorus from all of them as they start to notice. Hanna rolls her eyes at them, but she can’t pretend she isn’t enjoying the attention, the eyes on her. Her last kiss was unimpressive; this one, she can make them just as excited as they were watching Emily.

She whispers, “Let’s really give ‘em a show,” giggly in Emily’s ear.

"Deal," Emily whispers back, and cups Hanna's face with one hand. She has long, strong fingers, and Hanna leans into the touch almost automatically. They're close together already: Hanna can see Emily's smudged lipstick, watches as Emily bites her lip before leaning in the rest of the way, pressing her mouth to Hanna's.

Hanna means to give it her all, but she’s distracted, almost immediately, by how crazy hot this is. The whoops and hollers—more than just the circle is watching them—and the buzz in her veins and also something else. The taboo, maybe. Kissing a girl, instead. She can’t focus on the _why_ , though, when she’s so overcome by the _what_.

The _what_ of Emily biting Hanna’s lip, now, and then sucking on it, and running her tongue against the sensitive corners of her mouth. Emily’s fingers in her hair, curled against her scalp. Emily really knows how to fucking kiss, it turns out.

Someone whoops nearby, but Hanna barely hears them. She's leaning into Emily now, one hand on her shoulder for balance. Emily's skin is warm against Hanna's hand, the strap of her dress sliding down her arm. Emily's chest pushes against hers as they breathe, as Hanna pulls herself together and deepens the kiss, gives Emily as good as she's getting.

The room feels hot, suddenly, small and focused around the pair of them, like the other people in the circle just... aren't there any more, don't matter.

“Save some for the rest of us,” someone shouts, too close and too loud, and Emily pulls back like a shot.

Hanna pushes up to her knees and bows as formally as she can, one arm in front and one in back, like royalty. “Thank you, thank you.” The whole room is cheering and clapping, and Hanna feels lit up, inside and out.

She sits back down, buzzing with sudden adrenaline. She can't seem to stop smiling, and, when she glances at Emily, Emily is smiling too, pink-cheeked. It is kind of warm: Hanna's glad for her tiny bralette top.

She spins the bottle again and gets some guy she's never seen before. He kisses fine: enthusiastic, sure, but nothing like Emily.

They ditch the game before the bottle comes around again; Emily spots Bio Guy and drags Hanna, almost literally, toward him. “Hey,” she says, too loud, obviously drunk now. “Aren’t you in my roommate’s bio class? This roommate. The one—Hanna. Here.” She points, and Hanna does a showy curtsy, because it’s more fun than being weird and embarrassed.

Maybe Hanna's a bit drunk too now, or maybe Bio Guy just isn't as interesting in a room full of people and options as he is in a mandatory morning bio class, but he doesn't look as cute now. Still, he _is_ cute, and he grins at Hanna.

"Yeah. Hey, Hanna. Did I just see you two kissing over there?"

Emily pipes up again. "She's a great kisser."

Hanna could do with a little less of this kind of wingmanning. "She's drunk," Hanna explains. "I think we're gonna go dance the booze out. You want to come?"

"Sure," Bio Guy says, and Emily squeaks happily.

"Yes!" she says. "You guys go dance!"

***

"So, yeah, I think that's a no on Bio Guy." Hanna takes another spoonful of Cap'n Crunch. Her parents never let her have sugary cereal. College is so freeing. "Whatever."

Emily's eating scrambled eggs and grapefruit, because of course she is. "He didn't seem that great anyway," she says, loyal as ever. "You can so do better. We can go to that frat thing on the weekend, maybe? I still think we should pledge next year."

"Totally," Hanna agrees. "We should totally pledge next year. We'd be sisters!"

They're both still mostly in pjs and ballet flats, having rolled from bed to breakfast. Emily has mascara smudged under her eyes from the night before. She still looks so pretty though, even when she's wincing at loud noises.

Hanna’s not hungover; maybe she hydrated better. Mostly she’s just still revved up, ready for the next thing, the next party, the next excitement. “You know what,” she says, pounding her hand on the table. Emily winces again. “Sorry.” Quieter: “We should make out at the frat party!”

Emily looks up, squinting. “Huh?”

The more she thinks about it, the more it seems like a brilliant idea. "Bio Guy was into it," she says. "And so were a bunch of other people! Also," and she sets her spoon down to grin, "you're like—a really good kisser."

Emily looks down at her grapefruit, but Hanna can tell she’s pleased with the compliment. “Now you say nice things about me,” she prompts, grinning.

“Not terrible, I guess,” Emily tells her, looking up and smirking. “Better than that guy you barely kissed at all.”

“You definitely gave him something to remember!” Hanna had forgotten about that already, Emily’s deep, claiming kiss with that guy, the way she’d held him in place. That had been hot. It’s hot now, remembering it.

Hanna hasn't really watched her friends really kiss before. Sure, some of her high school friends had boyfriends, but it's not like she _watched_ them make out. Not like last night: Emily up on her knees, her pretty white dress floating around her thighs, kissing that guy like she meant it. Her mouth had been right where Hanna's had been, Hanna keeps thinking. That's kind of cool.

“So is that a yes? On the making out at the frat party? I think we’re gonna be the hit of the party.” Hanna’s sure of it, actually. “Can’t hurt with pledging next year, right?”

Emily takes a beat too long to answer, just enough that Hanna starts to think maybe Emily’s trying to find a way to say no. But then she smiles, says, “Yeah, totally. And we’ll find you a way better guy.”

"Cool!" Hanna says, and picks her spoon back up. "And we've got to find someone for you too, Em. There's someone amazing out there for you!"

"I have conditions," Emily says, miming pulling out a list, a well-worn bit, and Hanna giggles.

"We'll find someone," Hanna says. She doesn't feel like eating the rest of her cereal all of a sudden. Maybe she didn't hydrate as well as she thought last night.

***

The frat party is less ... inviting than the Halloween party had been. It’s jam-packed with the kind of guy Hanna ungenerously thinks of as Trust Fund Morons. “Let’s not get wasted tonight,” she murmurs to Emily, who nods agreement.

Inside, though, seems to have a better concentration of women and of men without Daddy’s lawyer on speed-dial. “Tell me when you spot one you like,” Hanna says. “We focused on my crush last time, it’s your turn.”

Emily scans the room, biting her lip in concentration. She's wearing a short blue dress tonight and it clings close to her body, showing off the outline of her. Her arm is linked through Hanna's again, just like before.

"Um," Emily says, and then, "oh, maybe him?" She nods in the direction of a guy standing by a wall, looking awkward.

Hanna can’t really see it, except that he certainly looks _safe_ , in the context of this party. He looks like someone she’d let walk Emily home. “Okay,” she says, even though Emily can do better, can aim higher. “Let’s get into his sightline and make out.”

“Oh—just, right away?” Emily asks. “Not, like. Dancing and mingling first?”

Hanna starts moving them across the room. "We can do that after," she says. "Let's get their attention first, right? Give them something to talk about!"

Hanna’s never been great at waiting when she wants something. Kissing Emily is too much fun to put off. The attention, the way it feels, the way she’s sort of extra connected to Emily—those things make her burst to get started, to get feeling amazing. “Against the wall, here,” she proposes, and turns to push Emily into it, gently.

Emily makes this little sound like breath leaving her lungs, even though Hanna didn't push her that hard. The room is pretty dark, for the party, but this close Hanna can see Emily's expression, her parted mouth.

Emily looks ready to be kissed. Hanna can’t imagine there’s a guy in the whole world who, seeing that, wouldn’t want to take her home. The guy they’re actually trying to impress isn’t gonna know what hit him.

Hanna leans in, shutting her eyes as she gets close enough to know she won’t miss Emily’s mouth. This time, unlike at Halloween, she’s putting herself in charge of the kiss. She has skills, too. She can impress Emily, she bets. 

There's the briefest moment, just before their lips meet, when Hanna can hear Emily inhale, a tiny, pretty noise, and then they're kissing, properly. Emily's mouth is soft and insistent and this time Hanna gives back, nips at Emily's lower lip. Lipgloss is smearing between them, and, slowly, Hanna feels Emily's hands come to rest—in a thrill of heat—on Hanna's waist.

The party’s slow to notice them, or maybe Hanna’s distracted. Emily’s mouth and the way she’s pressing herself into Emily’s space are filling up her brain. This is more than fun; this is super fucking hot. Hanna knew she liked kissing but it’s wild that kissing a girl can be this good.

It's not that she's never thought about it, but it just never occurred to her that it could be like this, her body responding to Emily like she's made for it. Emily's pulling her closer, and Hanna could stay here for-fucking-ever, necking with Emily against this wall, feeling Emily shift and sigh against her.

Emily doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, either, so maybe Hanna will just keep kissing her. They’re at a party; they’re supposed to be enjoying themselves. This definitely counts.

She’s jostled, though, by one of the trust-fund jerks, who’s crowding too close. Turning to see him, staring down Emily’s dress, is as good as a bucket of ice water. “Um, hello, her eyes are up there and also, fuck off,” Hanna says, burning with more irritation than she can strictly justify. Emily’s hand finds hers and squeezes it.

"Looks like you're having a good time," the jerk says. He's wearing a tie, to a fucking college party, which makes Hanna distrust him on at least ten more levels. "Is this a private party?"

"Invitation only," Hanna says. Emily can speak for herself, Hanna knows she can, but she just wants to—she wants to stand in front of Emily and shove until this guy is on the other side of the room. The point was to get attention, she knows, but no one wants this guy's attention.

"Hey man," says a voice, and Hanna and Emily both turn. It's the bland-looking guy Emily pointed out earlier, suddenly by their sides. "You want to leave the ladies alone?" 

Trust-fund Jerk scowls, and for a second, Hanna thinks they might fight. That the asshole might sucker punch him for interfering. She thinks he contemplates it, too, but then he straightens his tie, gives their tableau a patronizing look, and leaves.

“Sorry. I’m sure you guys could have handled it, I just—really hate guys like that,” bland guy says, and Hanna mentally grants him a couple of extra points on her Good Enough for Emily scale.

Emily squeezes Hanna's hand again—a thank you—and steps out from behind her. She's smiling big and pretty, and Hanna has this moment, this entirely unfair moment, where she just thinks, _no, that's not for him_. But, god, a good kiss doesn't make her high ruler of Emily's mouth, so she grins, and says, "I'm gonna... go find the drinks!"

The guy—is he a idiot?—looks like he’s going to leave, so she grabs his shoulder and says, “Amuse my roommate for a while, won’t you?” There: she can be a good wingwoman. A _great_ wingwoman.

The drinks are far away and kind of unimpressive for a frat party. Or rather, the beer selection sucks. They have her favourite hard liquor options, but she’s sticking to beer tonight, and she’d rather not drink Bud.

She's still trying to make a decision when a cute enough guy comes up beside her. "Rough choice, huh?" he says. He's wearing good jeans and doesn't at first glance seem to be wearing a polo shirt, so Hanna's willing to give him a smile, to lean against the counter and flirt a little, get him to pick her a beer. She opens it herself, though, and holds on to it.

She cranes her neck to peer through the party. Emily's where she left her, back against the wall, talking with bland guy. As Hanna watches, Emily puts her hand on his arm and laughs. It's going well, then, Hanna thinks. That's—that's just proof she's got Emily's back. An excellent bestie.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Cute-Enough Guy is keeping a careful distance. "I saw you guys, earlier."

"My roommate," Hanna corrects. "Did you like it?" She grins, inviting the compliment.

"I mean—you'd have to lack a pulse not to like that, I think. So ... not your girlfriend. Guy she's talking to your boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," Hanna tells him, cutting to the chase. "Want to dance?"

"I'm not very good at it," Cute Enough Guy says, wrinkling his nose kind of self-deprecatingly. "But yes!"

This, Hanna knows how to do. "I'm great at it," she says, and holds out her hand for him. "I'll show you."

She gives Emily another look before they head away. She’ll come back and check on her later, but it doesn’t look like Emily needs any intervention right now. She looks comfortable. So—good. Great.

Something makes Hanna turn away sharply, grab for this guy’s hip. “C’mon,” she says. “I’m in the mood to get down.”

Despite his disclaimer, the guy isn't that bad when they're actually out there. The music is loud and the guy mostly follows her lead, and that's all Hanna really wants right now, just something to lose herself in. When she catches glimpses of Emily through the crowd, Emily looks happy, laughing and dancing and getting closer and closer into her guy's space, and Hanna isn't that surprised when her phone buzzes to say that Emily's going to head out with this guy, go back to his.

She’s a little more surprised at how irritated it makes her. Hanna was supposed to have veto power. Not that she was gonna exercise it, just—

She can’t logically explain why she’s upset, but she is, and it takes the shine off the night and off this guy whose name she still doesn’t know. She waits until she’s sure Emily’s long gone, won’t see her, and then she says, “I’m zonked, I’m gonna take off,”  
and doesn’t even look back to see how disappointed he is.

***

It wasn't a long walk to Tad's place, but Emily's in heels and her feet kind of hurt now. It's pulling her out of the moment even though Tad's perfectly fine at kissing, his arms around her, the two of them fitting together on his single bed.

"Lemme just, um," she says, and reaches down to try to untangle herself from her shoes. She loves these shoes because they stay on through anything, but sometimes that's a liability. The tiny buckles are not easy to manage when she's twisted up in the dark. Increasingly she's unsure why she even came back here, but—whatever. It's college.

She manages to get them off, and stretches back out next to him. He's kissing her again before she's even fully down on her side, his hand roaming pretty respectfully along her side and her back. Sometimes he brushes the back of her neck— _that_ , she likes. She could go for more of that. She pulls her mouth away and tilts her chin up, and he gets the hint right away, starts kissing her throat. It feels good, way better than the kissing, and she winds her own hand onto his back to keep him close.

He's stroking down her side, lingering in the dip of her waist. She's wearing a cute tight dress and it doesn't easily ruck up, so he's just getting over the clothes action, and Emily's okay with that. His mouth is good on her neck, and she closes her eyes, relaxes into it, holding him there while he kisses the hollow of her throat, and carefully over her collarbones like he's waiting for permission.

He's hard, against her. So he's definitely into it. That's good, too—that makes her feel sexy. That and his mouth on her neck, and maybe she's okay staying here a while.

He kisses down farther, into the neckline of her dress. Well—sure. That would feel nice, too, probably. Her breasts honestly aren't as sensitive as her neck, but it's still nice, sometimes. Her high-school boyfriend used to love playing with her breasts, and she'd mostly let him. "I can, um—unzip a little," she says, and Tad sucks a breath through his nose, loud, _wanting_.

"Or—" He strokes a hand up her thigh, lifting the hem of her skirt. "I could just skip the rest of the way down ..." He punctuates this with a kiss to her ribcage, then her belly, through her dress, so she can't mistake what he's suggesting.

Emily freezes for a second. She's never—her high school boyfriend never offered, and she never asked. She never really even wanted to ask, nervous about what he might think. How exposed she'd be. Her friends had whispered about it before, about what their boyfriends thought about it, and Emily had always felt... not uncomfortable, but definitely not _comfortable_.

She must freeze up or something, because Tad lifts his head. "Or we can do something else?" he says. He doesn't sound judgey or anything, but Emily still feels herself go red.

“Um—yeah,” she says. She’ll just—definitely the easiest way to refocus away from her embarrassment, and maybe get back to her dorm in time to watch some TV with Hanna, is to get him off. “Kiss me again?”

He comes back up, amiable, or at least faking it well. As soon as he’s kissing her, so that she feels less observed, she snakes a hand between them to cup his erection. 

His hips buck immediately, which is super gratifying, and he makes a rough noise against her neck. "You don't have to," he says, because apparently Emily has found the only considerate college guy at that whole frat party.

"I know," she says, "I want to," and she does, wants to feel in charge again, wants to see how he reacts. It was her favourite part about fooling around in high school: the headiness of it, of how good she could make her boyfriend feel. She figured that kind of—that that was the point. That that was the big deal about it all.

Probably sex, when she actually has it, will be more fun. Just, she’s definitely not doing _that_ with Tad, who she met two hours ago.

This, she can do. She works his zipper down and pulls him out of his underwear, rolling back enough that she has room. He’s still trying to kiss her, though he’s mostly lost his focus, and that’s ideal, because she isn’t on display while he’s kissing her. She liked being on display with Hanna, at the party, but she doesn’t need Tad’s eyes on her while she jerks him off.

This she's always found easy. It's really cool, the way it makes Tad react, the way he twitches against her. It's kind of like when she's taken a risk with her makeup and it's paid off; it's the same kind of gratified satisfaction, removed from the rest of her body.

It doesn't take long until Tad is breathing too hard to kiss her.

He's lost all focus on anything except the movement of her hand, because she's doing a good job getting him off. It's pretty awesome, really, and more so when she speeds up enough that he grunts, almost a choking noise, and starts coming.

She manages to keep it off her dress, although not off his shirt—sorry, Tad—and wipes her hand clean on the sheets under them. Tad blinks slowly at her as she gets up. "I can—"

"Another time," she says, smiling at him, thinking, _probably not, actually._

She gets her shoes back and kisses Tad goodbye. She gives him her actual number, because he's been kind and sweet, and did ask her to stay if she wanted, but she's pretty sure this is the last time they're going to be doing _this_. Maybe they could hang out or something. She never did find out his major.

Halfway back across campus, she gives up and just unbuckles her shoes again, carries them in one hand the rest of the way back to their dorm. Maybe Hanna's still out, she thinks. Maybe—maybe Hanna found a Tad, too.

Hanna'd probably have a better time than Emily did. Hanna probably doesn't stop guys from going down on her. She probably tells them to, and they find themselves wanting to impress her. But then, Hanna doesn't ask to be impressed—not by Emily, anyway. Hanna's so enthusiastic and non-judgmental with Emily, the way Emily can't trust guys to be, even her high-school boyfriend. If _Hanna_ was offering to go down on Emily, Emily wouldn't stop her.

... or—not that she—that is—

Emily stops dead, halfway between two street lights, staring at the front of their dorm but not seeing it. Her thoughts are rolling over each other so fast it's like a conversation she's barely controlling. 

She can't—she can't stop _picturing_ it, now that she's thought about it. Hanna, where Tad was, kissing Emily's belly over her dress and grinning up at her, that same grin that led Emily everywhere for months now. Hanna's hands flirting with the hem of Emily's dress. Hanna, back at the party, pushing Emily against the wall.

Hanna, kissing her better than any guy ever has in Emily's whole life. Hanna in her bralettes and short skirts and oh god, Emily's appreciation wasn't just aesthetic after all, was it? She's—she's _gay_. Or something. But ... it feels right, in her belly, even if it's overwhelming, because ... because she can _really_ picture Hanna in bed with her. Hanna, naked, letting Emily touch her everywhere. Letting Emily—oh, god.

Emily kicks back into gear, moving towards the dorm at speed. Her feet hurt, and her heart is pounding, and she has no idea what she's going to say when she sees Hanna, just knows that she has to get there right now.

She's almost out of breath when she reaches their room. She pushes the door open, fumbling with her keys— _Hi Hanna, I think I'm gay_? _Hey, how was your night? I think I'm into you_?—but the lights are off and the room is quiet, and as Emily's vision adjusts, she can see the shape of Hanna in bed, curled over on her side, asleep. Something like stifled expectation starts to ache in Emily's throat.

She could wake Hanna up. She could. Just—the image of Hanna, groggy and maybe annoyed, maybe drunk, not-quite-listening to something that feels so important—

She swallows it down, for now, and grabs her toiletry kit before she ducks back out.

The thoughts don't stop while she's brushing her teeth or washing her face. It's a heady mix of complicated thoughts about identity and history and what this means, and then just ... sex. _Sex sex sex sex sex_ , like a brand-new avenue has opened up in her brain. Like, suddenly, she's gone from "I think it'll probably be good" to "It's going to be fucking amazing, and there is no fucking reason to wait."

No reason, maybe, but definitely a need—she has to go back to their room, has to put herself to bed and wait for the morning, has to think about this whole thing some more. About what she wants. About what she might like. About this whole concept of herself that has changed on a dime, standing barefoot under streetlamps and thinking about her best friend's smile.

Changing into her pjs feels like more of a risk, somehow, than it has done before. She's more conscious of the air on her bare skin as she pulls her pj top on, and more aware how close her bed is to Hanna's when she finally gets under the covers. She—there's an ache between her legs that just _wasn't_ there with Tad, but is fucking all she can feel now, insistent in the dark, quiet room.

Hanna's so deep asleep she's snoring, just lightly. It feels—not safe, but not outright dangerous to snake a hand down under the waistband of her pjs, catching her breath silently when one probing finger finds just how wet she is. She isn't sure she's ever felt quite like this, and she hasn't even really started. Just the images, the ideas, have her squeezing her thighs tight around her hand. Hanna, kissing her again, this time in the privacy of their room, this time horizontal, one of them spread out under the other. Maybe Hanna on top of her, weighing her down into the bed, thigh pressing up between Emily's. Hanna kissing her neck would be—would be so fucking good it's hard to fathom, now that she's thought of it. Nothing could ever be that good, except maybe—maybe Hanna touching her like she's touching herself now. Hanna wanting to get her off. Hanna wanting to see her and touch her and kiss her and—god. _God_.

Emily's heart is beating so firmly she can't quite believe Hanna can't hear it. She's trying so hard to stay quiet, to keep her breathing even like nothing's going on. To stay _still_ , thighs tight, trying not to move the covers. She's so wet it feels almost unbelievable that no one else knows, that Hanna is sleeping peacefully just across the room. That Hanna can't—oh fuck, that Hanna can't _smell_ her, the way she worried Tad could.

She bets Hanna would _like_ the way Emily smells, find it—rich, maybe, and warm. Sexy. Maybe she'd, god, she'd follow the scent like a cartoon dog, eyes slitting shut, Hanna's body following, until she was—god, right there, until she was licking right over Emily's, um. Over Emily.

And probably they'd switch off. Probably Emily would be down between Hanna's thighs, sometimes, kissing the skin there and leaning in to, to—

She shudders, clenching down on her fingers, shaking. She manages to keep silent, she's pretty sure, and then she's limp and wrung out under the covers, panting open-mouthed. Okay. So—okay. She's maybe super gay, probably.

Across the room, Hanna rolls over, and Emily freezes, sure she's been caught out, but Hanna's just as asleep as she was when Emily came in.

She's going to have to think about this—about everything—again properly in the morning, when her thighs aren't sticky and her head isn't spinning, but right now she can only lie there, breathing hard. She _wants_ that, she's sure of it now, to do... that with—with _Hanna_ , and all she can think to do right now is to suck her fingers clean

 _That’s what Hanna tastes like, maybe,_ she thinks, and shudders with an aftershock. Jesus. Really, really, super gay.

***

Emily wakes up groggy and late. She’s slept too long, enough that it makes her feel slow and more tired than she was when she fell asleep still thinking about—oh, god. Right.

She turns her head, but there’s no Hanna in the room. So she’ll ... find her, then. And tell her. The idea stocks in her throat, in the bright light of the morning, the way it didn’t last night when she was tipsy and wide-awake and aroused.

Getting up and dressed and going out into the world seems basically impossible, even for coffee. She wants to lie here on her back for the foreseeable future and maybe steal one of Hanna's breakfast bars. She can't stop thinking about last night. About what she was going to tell Hanna.

Hanna, who breezes in through the door, making Emily jump. "Hey," Hanna calls. "I brought you coffee."

"Oh! Thanks!" Emily suspects she looks as startled and off-kilter as she feels, but Hanna doesn't comment on it, because Hanna's good like that. She's good and safe and Emily could tell her right now and it would almost definitely be okay.

"So?" Hanna asks, drawing the word out. "How was he?"

Right. Right. It would almost definitely be okay, except for how Hanna's into guys and thinks Emily's into guys and _Emily_ thought she was into guys until ten hours ago, so ... maybe it wouldn't be okay, actually.

She struggles up in bed, pushing the pillows behind her so she can lean against the wall. Hanna kicks her shoes off and climbs up onto the bed too, the way they always do. Still, it feels different now, and Emily has to hope she isn't blushing when Hanna passes her the coffee and their fingers brush.

"That is some suspicious silence, there. Did you trade in your v-card or something? Or was he bad at it?" Hanna pauses, puts a hand on Emily's knee through the covers. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, no, nothing like—I'm fine, it was fine," Emily rushes to reassure her. "Not, like, amazing, but," she shrugs, "Fine, I guess."

Maybe ... maybe if she's honest about how lukewarm it was, that will at least start changing Hanna's perception of Emily, a little. Maybe she can drop some breadcrumbs and hope for ... god. It's too much to hope, probably, for anything to really happen between them.

"You look kind of upset, though," Hanna says, gently.

Emily turns the coffee cup in her hands, looking down at her lap. "It, uh," she says. "Like, it really was fine. Just—" she can't find the words. _It didn't light me up? I'm not seeing him again? I think I might actually not like boys?_ "—he wanted to, you know." She nods at her lap, legs crossed under the covers. She's not normally at a loss for words like this, or as likely to shy away from the actual description, but she still feels like she might trip and blurt everything out if she's not careful, and before she knows what she really wants to say.

"To ..." Hanna looks like she needs slightly more to get Emily's point.

"Uh, you know, to—go down. Um, on me."

Hanna lights up. "Oh! Well, good for him." She eyes Emily's expression. "Not your thing, though?"

Emily shrugs. "I don't know if it's my thing. I've never—I've never done it."

Hanna looks much more like her regular excitable self now. "Oh my god, you've got to. Do you think he would have been bad at it? Because even when it's bad, it's kind of good, honestly. Like I can't always get off if they're sort of all over the place, but it still feels like—WOW, you know?"

Emily does not know. "I just, uh. I really didn't want him there. Like, that didn't seem ... hot."

"Oh, it's _so_ hot," Hanna says. "But, like, not if you don't want to!"

Emily thinks about being in bed the night before, about... fantasizing, it was fantasizing, about Hanna between her thighs. "I _do_ want to," she says. "Just... really not with him. I don't know, I felt... exposed. And, like-" because while they're talking about it, she might as well _talk_ about it "-what if I, you know. Taste bad."

Hanna puffs out, sitting up straighter, looking ready to avenge. “Man—fuck the patriarchy. Any dude should be _thrilled_ to get to taste you. Should be worshipping at your feet out of gratitude.” She catches the slight look of distaste Emily can’t hold back, and misinterprets it. “But, I mean, I know it’s hard, worrying about that stuff. Everyone does. Even if guys should be better, it sucks that they aren’t.”

Emily wants to scream _guys aren’t the point_ , but it’s definitely not the moment. “Thanks. I should, like, get dressed.”

"Sure," Hanna says, but doesn't move to get off the bed so Emily can get up. She cocks her head to the side, really looks at Emily. "I'm glad he treated you right," she says, her voice going soft again. "Like—I'm glad I didn't have to veto anyone. You deserve a good person, you know?"

Emily swallows. Hanna is—Hanna is pretty much the best person she knows, and Emily's voice gets stuck in her throat. "Thanks," she says, which isn't enough. "And, um. Thanks for the coffee."

There's this—moment where neither of them speaks, both curled up and comfy on Emily's bed in the morning light. Hanna is smiling, cute and happy and pleased, and Emily feels, for a second, like she doesn't have a care in the world.

Hanna grins and plucks the coffee back, takes a drink. "You're welcome," she says cheerful, and hands it back.

Emily sticks her tongue out, and Hanna giggles. “See, that’s all he really has to do,” Hanna tells her, grinning. She winks.

Emily keeps the smile up until her coffee is back in front of her face. She’ll tell Hanna ... something. Somehow. But not today.

“I think you’ve had too much caffeine,” Emily says. “Is this because of your French paper?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Hanna says. “Let’s stay here all day and avoid doing our work.”

"Sounds good," Emily says, because she's already started the day by putting something off, and burrows down under the covers.

***

Emily doesn't tell Hanna the next day either, or the day after that, and then it's a couple of weeks later and she just hasn't told Hanna at all. It's been a couple of weeks of _almost_ , of second guessing herself, of looking away and feeling guilty when Hanna gets changed in their room.

Her late-night certainty is gone. She still knows—she mostly knows—she’s gay, and she’s certainly still painfully into Hanna, but the immediate and viral connection between those two facts has withered in the face of _I can’t lose her as my best friend_.

She can’t even masturbate without getting sad, lately, which feels extra unfair now she knows exactly what fantasies get the job done.

Hanna seems to know that something's wrong, which—of course she does. They're best friends. They can always tell when something is off, even if they don't know exactly what it is. Maybe it's that that prompts Hanna to say over lunch one day, "Hey, a girl in my poli sci class is having a party this friday. We should totally go!"

Emily agrees without thinking; it makes Hanna glowingly happy, which delays Emily’s realization until an hour later, daydreaming in class. She suddenly remembers, fingers clenching so hard she snaps her pencil, that _Hanna likes to make out at parties_.

Fuck.

Her first instinct is that she just can't do it. She can't go make out with Hanna knowing that she's _into_ it if _Hanna_ doesn't know; it feels weird and wrong under her skin.

But after a couple of hours of that, a new thought starts to creep in. Hanna _likes_ kissing her. She says Emily’s really good at it. So if Emily hasn’t been able to make herself talk to Hanna, maybe this is a chance to show her, instead.

Maybe it’s an opportunity to stop lying by omission, instead of a bigger lie.

It's not a Halloween party but Hanna wears her bralette again, paired with jeans this time, and a pair of flats. Hanna's style runs more comfortable than Emily's most of the time.

Emily doesn't remember what she used to do here, doesn't remember how much is normal for her to look, or not look.

She thinks she maybe used to look a lot. A lot, a lot. The fact that she's pretty much memorized Hanna's wardrobe feels like a clue, there. "You look gorgeous," Hanna tells her, and Emily's tongue sticks in her mouth. It's impossible not to compliment her; it's impossible to compliment her.

"Thanks," she says, and then, "Are we pre-drinking?" It's at least a distraction; Hanna grins and goes to rifle through their secret bar, held in her bottom desk drawer. They end up on gin, again. It sort of helps Emily calm down; it would be helping more, except that drinking always makes Hanna extra tactile.

She slings an arm around Emily as they're walking to the party, loose and happy. She smells like perfume and Emily's shampoo, and when she shivers against the cold, Emily draws her closer automatically.

"You're so warm, Em," Hanna tells her, happily.

Emily feels overheated, suddenly, despite the air. Hanna’s waist is bare and firm under her arm; when they kiss, _if_ they kiss, Emily will be able to run her hands over all that soft, bare skin.

“That must be it,” Hanna says, pointing. Lights, sound, and a laughing couple spill out the doors of a co-op house on the edge of campus.

They make their way over, Hanna still hanging onto Emily. Her arm is around Emily's waist and Emily doesn't know if she's focusing more on her hand on Hanna or Hanna's fingertips just lingering over the waist of her skirt.

Emily’s had more than a few thoughts about Hanna’s fingers, lately. Like—more than a few thoughts per hour. Hanna could slip them down into her waistband so easily, could just—

Emily trips, almost going down. Hanna manages to keep her upright. “Shit, Em, you okay?” Hanna’s pressed right up against her, suddenly. Emily’s heart is pounding.

"Fine," she says, not quite steadily. "Fine! I must have—tripped or something."

Another few people pile out of the house, laughing, lighting cigarettes and smoking on the lawn. Emily seizes this as a distraction. "There," she says, "found it!" and tugs Hanna that way.

They have to separate to get inside, too many people trying to flirt in the entranceway. Or just talking, and Emily's seeing flirting everywhere, now. She wishes she could see flirting in the touch of Hanna's fingertips on her lower back, making sure she doesn't get lost.

Emily heads straight for the kitchen, for more alcohol, for some air and relief, but Hanna catches her arm before she gets there. "I love this song!" she shouts. Emily hadn't even really noticed it, over the tumult of voices and the press of bodies, but now she hears it, vintage Madonna. She loves this song, too.

They wind up dancing—how could they not, to this song—smack in the middle of a crowd, Hanna pushing close and giggling, really going for it. The light is low and the music is loud and for a second Emily can almost imagine that this is something else. That they're something else.

But they're not, and she has to keep telling herself that.

Someone bumps into them and as Emily moves out of the way, she sees it's actually two someones, a couple, making out so hard they're not paying any attention to anything around them. And—they're girls, wound around each other, hands in each other's hair, mouths moving together. They look _good_ , practiced and comfortable with each other, and it's their obvious happiness as much as the kick of how fucking hot it is that has Emily staring a beat too long. She just—she wants that, and right now, without it, she doesn't know how it took her so long to realise.

Hanna catches her wrist again, pulls Emily close to make sure Emily can hear her. "Hey," she calls, "they're stealing our thing!"

“I think, uh. I don’t think that’s for an audience,” Emily says. She puts her mouth close to Hanna’s ear, nervous the girls will hear them talking. Nervous the girls will see her and just— _know_ , somehow. Gaydar. Isn’t gaydar a thing?

Hanna giggles. “Okay, right, good point.” She looks around, scanning the room. “Let’s go check out the rest of the party.” Emily hears, _let’s go find boys worth making out in front of_.

“Yeah,” she says, stomach roiling from more than the gin.

She follows Hanna as they weave their way through the crowd until Hanna comes to a stop near a group of clean cut guys playing flipcup in the back 

"You like here?" Hanna asks, and Emily—what else can she do?—nods.

Hanna leans into her slowly this time, like—probably like she wants to attract attention, but it feels like Emily wishes it could, when Hanna puts fingertips on Emily’s face and stares at her mouth, slowly moving closer.

Hanna’s so close Emily can almost taste her, a breath between them, Hanna’s lips not quite brushing hers. Emily’s whole body is on fire; she’s going to die if Hanna doesn’t kiss her. She may die anyway. _This_ is what real kissing is. This is what she’s never had before.

"Ready?" Hanna asks, her breath warm against Emily's mouth, and Emily doesn't know how to say _yes_ , that she's never been more ready for anything, that she can feel every inch of their bodies not touching, that she needs it so badly she almost feels faint. She nods, somehow, and then—and then Hanna's kissing her, really kissing her, one hand cupping Emily's neck in a way that's making Emily's stomach go hot with want.

Emily's got her hands on Hanna's bare waist, fingers moving; she can't stop them from seeking out every part of Hanna's back and her sides. She's kissing back maybe too hard, too frantic; she needs more of this, needs to somehow convey to Hanna that this isn't about the party at all. That this is just for them.

Someone nearby must have noticed; there's a masculine whoop of excitement, and then Hanna's giggling into her mouth. It makes Emily's stomach drop. Hanna's not doing this for herself and Emily; she's doing it for a bunch of dudes with stupid Solo cups on the other side of the room.

She pulls away abruptly, snatching her hands back like she's been burned. Hanna staggers forward, like she's been leaning more of her weight on Emily than she realised, and catches herself before she falls. Emily feels—she feels—she can't be here with Hanna and with everyone, with Hanna kissing her to get attention and not knowing how Emily is feeling, how much Emily _wants_. How stupid Emily was to let herself pretend, even for a second.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she blurts, and just has time to see the shock on Hanna's face before she turns and bolts away.

***

Hanna stands for a second, the whoops around her gone quiet—the whole party a little quieter than it was, she thinks—and then she's darting after Emily, because whatever's wrong, Hanna has to fix it. Emily's been acting weird for a while, and Hanna hasn't pushed, but now she's going to, because Emily's _important_. Emily being happy matters so much. She's Hanna's roommate and best friend and Hanna damned well expects to them to be maids of honor for each other and aunts to each other's children. It may have only been a semester, but she knows Emily's for keeps.

In retrospect—in retrospect, maybe the kissing wasn't the best idea.

Emily's moving faster, pushing through the crowds quicker than Hanna can manage, and they make it to the lawn outside before Hanna can reach to grab Emily's arm. She's been calling her name but Emily must not have heard because she didn't turn round.

Hanna can't let herself think, _or she did hear, and she's ignoring me_. That's not an option.

"Emily! Are you okay?"

Emily's still facing away from her, doesn't turn around. "Just—I have to go," she says. "Let me go."

"Em!" Hanna's too worried to let go yet. "What's wrong? What's going on?" A sudden thought. "Is it—did I do something?"

Emily laughs, not at all humorously. She turns around, and Hanna lets go of her, watches Emily cross her arms tightly, fingers gripping above her own elbows. "No, you didn't do anything. I'm the—" She stops, shakes her head. "I can't do this anymore, okay?"

Hanna's already nodding. "Of course, yeah, we never have to—do what? Go to parties? Make out at parties? Um—I gotta buy a vowel, or—"

"Make out at all," Emily says, and that feels like a slap, somehow. _Emily doesn't want to kiss you. Maybe she never did._ And Hanna's been dragging her to parties and kissing her, not knowing. 

There are a thousand things Hanna could say, but all that makes it out of her mouth, small, is, "You don't like it?"

Emily's mouth wobbles and Hanna sees her wrench it into a straight line again. It _hurts_ , all the down into her core, in a way Hanna didn't know she could hurt. She reaches out again and Emily pulls sharply back.

"Em—"

Emily sniffs, and wipes at her eyes. The music thumping out of the house behind them is loud and dizzying, making things feel almost surreal. "No," she says. Hanna goes cold. "I did like it, Han. That's—I really _did_."

"So then—" Hanna starts, because none of this makes any sense right now.

Emily covers her face, then uncovers it. She's glaring. She's bright pink, all across her cheekbones and her jaw—drunk and upset, Hanna thinks. "Jesus, Hanna! Don't—I liked it _too much_ , okay? Like—it turns out I'm super gay and I love you and so maybe you should stop kissing me, okay? Because I can't take it. Just—"

Hanna reaches for her again, and this time Emily darts out of reach. " _Don't_ ," Emily says, too loud and too cold, and Hanna jerks her hand back as if she's been stung.

"You're—" Hanna starts, turning it over in her head, and Emily flinches away, stepping back.

"Don't," she says, "don't, I'm—I've got to—" and then she's turning, running off the lawn.

Hanna doesn't try and follow her this time. Emily's made it pretty clear that's not what she wants.

It's easier to think about that than the rest of it: Emily, miserable and guilty-looking, saying, _I liked it too much_. Saying—saying _Turns out I'm gay_.

Someone sidles up to her. "That looked rough. You want a drink? I got so wasted after my last breakup."

Hanna doesn't even turn her head; she just leaves, trying to walk at a normal pace. She's weirdly aware of her body, of her breathing, of her steps. Is this how walking usually feels? Is this how often she breathes, normally? She can't remember.

Emily, saying _and I love you_. Emily, flushed and upset. Emily's a _lesbian_.

Hanna gets a little way like that before she has to sit down, her legs feeling wobbly, unsteady. She's back on campus at least, so there's a bench she can sink down onto, try to get her bearings.

Emily's a _lesbian_ , Hanna thinks again. She likes girls, and she said—and she likes _Hanna_.

Maybe Emily’s just confused? All that kissing—it’s been confusing to Hanna, a little, how good it can be to kiss a girl. Those girls at the party, in the other room—they’d looked just like anyone else. They’d looked like Emily and Hanna, with maybe more ear piercings. Which—doesn’t really go to her point. She needs a minute. She needs a lot of minutes.

It’s fucking cold out. Walking over here she’d been warm through, hot where Emily’s arm was around her.

And Emily just—hadn't said anything, not until now. How long has she been feeling like this? Like kissing Hanna is something she hasn't wanted to do?

Except... except Emily said she _did_ want to, and that's why she's so upset. Does she think Hanna didn't want to? That she didn't like it?

Because, Hanna is realising, making herself think about it—she really fucking liked it.

Maybe Emily doesn't realize that's normal. It's normal! Kissing feels good! Not that being gay isn't _normal_ —Hanna's not a homophobe—just, like. Kissing feels good; that doesn't mean anything. If Emily thinks it means more than it does, then—

Emily's kissed boys, though. And Emily didn't say "bisexual." Emily said gay. Super gay. Like kissing Hanna was better than kissing that bland guy from the party, or her boyfriend in high school, or those guys she told Hanna about that she made out with at sleepaway camp, one guy every summer. Emily's kissed lots of guys, and she still thinks she's super gay.

Hanna gets up and walks, mechanically, towards their dorm. She's cold. She's so cold that it's hard to make her fingers move on her phone, so that she ends up googling _hiw so yuo knoq if youre gay_ , but Google figures it out.

None of the results are particularly helpful. They all seem to focus on feeling _more_ or _different_ about girls than guys, and, okay, that's kind of what Emily was saying, but Hanna doesn't understand. She just—it was the same, kissing Emily, as kissing any of the boys she's been with. It did the same things to her, made her feel the same kind of good, of wanted and squirmy and powerful and hot. It was—

—the same. Oh.

"Well, shit," Hanna says, out loud, and someone walking the other way on the path visibly startles away from her own phone. Hanna ignores her, keeps walking. _cab you be bisejual adn not know_ —Google gets that one, too.

Gurl.com has a "ten ways to tell" that starts with "You Genuinely Feel Like You Want To Hook Up With A Girl." Hanna swallows, staring at it. At the picture of the girl next to the words, who looks—not really like Emily, but blonde and pretty and if Hanna squints, it could be Emily, splayed out on a bed, thinking about hooking up with girls. Thinking about _"Bisexuality comes into question when you're not just thinking about how pretty the other girl is, but when you're thinking what it would be like to kiss her, touch her, and be with her in a more intimate way."_

And—then Hanna's _thinking_ about it, about her hands in Emily's hair back at the party, about Emily's mouth on hers. About Emily telling her no one had ever gone down on her and Hanna thinking, fleetingly, _I would_. About Emily in her angel costume and Emily with her arm round Hanna's waist and Emily smiling at her over breakfast, and, oh, shit, Hanna's maybe been kind of oblivious to her own feelings. Own orientation. Own... whatever.

And Emily’s somewhere thinking Hanna’s not into her. Or worse, maybe: that Hanna’s been playing with her emotions. Hanna didn’t know, but in retrospect, she’s been pushing, the way she always does: pushing to make out, pushing to find boys. Pushing Emily to find a guy, and clearly that hadn’t ended the way anyone wanted it.

She’d felt so weird, so conflicted about Emily going home with that guy. She’d been kind of thrilled it hadn’t gone right, just as much as she’d been righteously defensive of Emily’s deserving better. Looking back ... looking back, Hanna’s maybe had a crush on Emily for a while.

It's so weird, looking at it in retrospect. Hanna's usually so quick to clue in when she likes someone, doesn't usually miss the signs—and all the signs were _there_ , with Emily. She can see that now. It's like—it's like she expected one thing of herself and just entirely overlooked a big flashing sign saying _you can be this too_.

This is all a lot to weigh, but also ... maybe it isn’t. Because just thinking about kissing Emily again, for real this time, is giving her stomach-butterflies, like the really good kind of anticipation. Like she wants to think about it almost as much as she wants to do it. Kiss Emily in their room. Kiss Emily on her bed, maybe.

She's getting close to the dorm now, and starts going faster as soon as she can see the door. Partly it's because she's freezing by now, but also—also, Emily is in there thinking Hanna... god, thinking the worst things. Whatever Hanna is feeling, or realising, or anything, the most important thing is that Emily know Hanna isn't, isn't _mad_ at her, that Hanna hasn't intentionally been stringing her along.

She takes the stairs to their floor two at a time, risky in these shoes.

Emily’s in bed, facing the wall. She’s a small lump under the blankets, her knees to her chest, Hanna thinks. She’s either sleeping or faking it—faking it, Hanna thinks, because Hanna can see fresh tear tracks on her cheek.

“Um—hey,” Hanna says. She’s nervous; it's a rare feeling for her, to be nervous in a way she can’t compensate for with enthusiasm. “Can we talk?” 

Emily startles and sits up, the covers falling away from her. Her face is blotchy, like she's been crying for a while. "Hanna? I thought—"

Hanna doesn’t want to know what she thought. That Hanna wouldn’t even come back? She interrupts before she can find out. “You startled me. Uh—surprised me.”

She’s hovering weirdly in the middle of the room, too aware of her body and her hands. She hesitates, then goes to sit on Emily’s bed, not as close to Emily’s still-curled shape as she wants.

Emily draws her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around them. She's watching Hanna like she's expecting something bad, like Hanna might just say something horrible at any second. Hanna's heart hurts about it.

“Uh—I’m not sure how to—“ It’s hard to find the words when Hanna’s still just figuring it out herself. Emily turns her head away, looking at the wall, and Hanna can see her chin scrunching up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Emily says. “I’ll—I’ll request a room change. You don’t have to say anything.”

"No, I do," Hanna says. Emily sniffs, wipes at her face. Hanna wants—wants to put her hand out and touch her, hold her hand. Something she would have done without a second thought before, but she doesn't want to make Emily think she's mocking her, or, or, just being _nice_ or something. "Em. I—" this is hard with Emily not looking at her but Hanna's trying anyway. "I—didn't know. About you. Or, uh. About... me."

Emily’s not getting it; Hanna knows how easy it is to only hear the worst possible interpretations of things when you’re upset. She needs to try again. It shouldn’t feel this hard, she thinks, when Emily’s already told her she _loves_ Hanna, but it is. It feels fragile and impossible.

“I really love kissing you,” she blurts out.

Emily sniffs again. "Yeah," she says, choked up, to the wall. "For boys. At parties."

"Not for boys," Hanna says. Her voice is coming out weird too, wobblier than she thought it'd be. "I mean, I know we haven't—but not for boys. I love kissing you for me."

Emily’s head turns, just a little. “As friends,” she says, tentatively.

“Um—apparently not,” Hanna says. She smiles, because this is maybe, kind of, going okay now. “Apparently like, uh, more than friends. Like—“ _Cards on the table, Hanna_ “—like I want to more than kiss you. A lot more.”

She thought that would be what made Emily turn back, what would make her happy. She’s apparently misjudged it, because Emily scowls, hugging her knees tighter. “Since when? All of a sudden you just, like—“ She stops, chin wobbling again.

She swipes at her eyes, frowning. "I say—all that to you, and you just, it's just, you just want that? Out of nowhere?" She turns her head further to the wall, shoulders shuddering. "I don't want, like, _pity_ or something. That's just gross."

"No!" Hanna says, appalled, and this time she does reach out, can't stand it, can't stand Emily thinking that. "Oh my god, no, I swear it's not that. It's—" and she has to breathe for a second "—I've been, um, kind of stupid about you for a while, Em. And I—I totally didn't notice." Her breathing is starting to catch. This is horrible, this is everything she was scared about. "I'm sorry."

Her hand is on Emily’s arm, and she should pull it back, before Emily shakes her off. She should lean out of Emily’s space. But Emily isn’t saying anything, is listening, and if this is all going to get fucked up, it _will not_ be because Hanna chickened out.

“Kissing you is as good as kissing a boy I like. That’s what—I didn’t realize that meant something. Because it’s—I still like boys. But I like _you_ more than anybody else in, like, the world. And you’re like hands down the hottest person I know. And the coolest, and the most thoughtful, and most fun, and you make me ramen and force me to do my work and I just—“ She pauses. Emily’s looking at her.

Hanna takes that as a good sign. "I just—hadn't realised it meant something because I only thought I liked boys. But I don't. I like you too. I, um, have liked you for a while, thinking about it. And when I thought you might never—that you might think I didn't want you—" she shakes her head, voice catching. "I do," she says. "I like you like you, Em."

Emily pulls her lower lip between her teeth. She still looks—shaky, fragile, but now, maybe, it’s in a different way. Hanna wants that expression to be hope.

Well. Hanna Koch does not back down from adversity, dammit. “So, I think you should let me kiss you now, just for us,” she concludes, forcing the fear out of her voice, making it bright and enthusiastic.

Emily blinks a couple times. "Just for us," she says, quietly. "I—yeah. Yeah, let's—" she swallows, and her chin comes up, brave. "Kiss me."

Hanna can do that. She still hesitates, just a second, nervous now. It _matters_ , now. “I’m not as good at it as you are,” she admits, softly.

Emily makes a face that looks like incredulity, and then she’s leaning into Hanna’s space instead, pulling Hanna into her with a hand on Hanna’s cheek.

Hanna goes towards her without even thinking about it, leaning into Emily's touch at once. Emily's mouth is soft at first, cautious, and Hanna just... just _gives_. This is nothing like at the parties. This is—this is _theirs_.

They can take as much time as they want, they can be as messy as they want ... they can be as sweet as they want, and right now Hanna wants sweet, wants comforting and languid. An _it’s for real_ kind of a kiss, with her thumbs running circles on Emily’s biceps.

Emily relaxes against her the longer they kiss, getting more trusting. Hanna wants to stay here for-fucking-ever, on Emily's bed together, starting this out. In this moment, she can't think how she didn't know this was what she wanted, how this was all she wanted. Emily, smiling against her mouth. Emily's hand warm against her cheek.

Emily giggles, suddenly, breaking away from Hanna’s mouth but staying close, breath hot on Hanna’s cheek. “Yeah?” Hanna asks. She feels giddy, too.

“Just—I didn’t think this would really—it’s nice. You’re nice.”

“ _You’re_ nice.” Hanna leans back a little and smooths the hair out of Emily’s face. “Hi.”

Emily giggles again, ducking her head. She looks up through her eyelashes, which—Hanna has used that move a hundred times on boys and has never really understood how effective it is. Emily is pink-cheeked and looks a little shy, and Hanna feels like the luckiest girl in the world.

"So, um," she says. "Was that—did you—"

Emily nods, biting her lip again. "Yeah," she says, smiling. "Did you like it too?"

“Um, YES,” Hanna tells her, way too loud for this time of night. “Sorry. Yes. Yeah. Yes.” God, what time is it, anyway? She pulls her phone out of her pocket to check, and makes a face. “Ugh. It’s like 3. Should we, like, raincheck?”

Emily fumbles for her phone in the covers by her side. She's wearing a tank top and one strap is sliding down her shoulder, and Hanna reaches out and gently pushes it back up. Emily's blushing again when she turns back, happy, and Hanna feels warm everywhere, like she's done something right.

"Raincheck," Emily says, checking her phone too. Hanna has that late night feeling, fizzy in her veins like anything could happen. Emily looks up at her again. "Um," she says. "Do you want to—we could—" she shifts over in her bed, making space. "Stay?"

Hanna wants that in every possible meaning. It seems completely impossible that she ever questioned it. “Like—sleeping,” she guesses. “Because raincheck.”

“Yeah.” Emily puts her forefinger on her mouth, just for a second, and Hanna can’t help but stare. “But, um. Maybe tomorrow we can, like—“ She gives Hanna a rueful smile. “I think I figured out what I was waiting for, before. So. I don’t really feel like I need to keep doing that.”

"Not waiting sounds great," Hanna says, fervently, and then, feeling herself go very red, "um, but, if you did want to wait, or whatever, we could do that. We can do anything."

Emily reaches out for Hanna's hand, takes it in hers. Their fingers fold together easily, like muscle memory. Like somewhere they're meant to be. "I don't want to wait," she says. "That's like. The opposite of the problem."

Hanna laughs, and squeezes her hand. In a second she's going to get up and brush her teeth, because she's damned if she's going to wake up next to Emily the first time that matters with night-before breath, but first—

"I know this has been kind of, um, sudden," she says. "And I don't really know what, like, label or whatever fits me. But I like you. And I like being with you. And if you'd like to... be with me for us to figure it all out together, I'd like that."

Emily's chin is wobbling again but Hanna doesn't think it's because of anything bad this time. "Are you asking me to go steady?" she says, managing to raise an eyebrow even though her voice is uneven.

Hanna doesn’t know if that _is_ exactly what she was asking, but who cares. “Yeah. Definitely, yeah.”

“Well—good.” Emily leans in and buries her face in Hanna’s neck. “Awesome,” she adds, muffled, and Hanna laughs.

“Lemme go brush my teeth? I’ll be right back.”

She lingers over the brushing, not because she doesn’t want to be back with Emily, but because she’s smiling too wide for it to be very efficient. And, mostly, because everything feels so _good_ right now. It’s slowing her down. Stop and smell the roses—this must be what that’s really about. She’d stop and smell every single rose on a bush, right now.

When she gets back to their room, she's faced with the realisation that she's still wearing her party clothes, a cute tight bralette and cute tight jeans, neither of which she wants to sleep in.

She has a sudden memory of Emily telling her she looked good when they were trying things on for Halloween, and wonders how she could have missed how good it made her feel, warm and wanted like—like her crush thought she was cute.

"Um," she says, and she still can't stop smiling, even less when she's looking at Emily, still sitting up in bed and smiling right back. "I'm just gonna—change."

Emily rolls her lips into her mouth again, cheeks still spread with her smile. “Right, yeah.” She turns away, and Hanna thinks maybe she wouldn’t mind Emily watching. Not tonight, she guesses, but ... Emily’s eyes on her as she strips? Yeah. Hanna could be very into that.

It’ll be hot with both of them curled up in one twin bed. She puts on a long pj shirt and then just panties, a combination that makes her feel adequately covered but also kind of sexy. Hopefully Emily agrees.

"Done," she says, feeling kind of awkward, and Emily turns back and just... stares. Hanna feels much, much less awkward now. "Is this okay?"

Emily's seen Hanna in these pjs before—they're roommates!—but this is different. This is Hanna picking something for her. Hanna wants her to think Hanna looks hot.

Emily nods, dark-eyed. "You look," she says, and clears her throat. "You look so good."

God. “Big raincheck,” Hanna says. “Like, giant. I’m cashing it in super soon.”

Emily has the cutest embarrassment-excitement faces in the whole world, Hanna’s pretty sure. “Good,” she says. “But, um. We should probably sleep now. Not that I couldn’t stare at you all night, because I could, just—“

Hanna walks closer and cuts Emily off with a kiss, because she can _do_ that now. Emily laughs into her mouth, and pulls on her arms. “Bed now.”

“Okay, okay,” Hanna says, and turns so she can slide her legs under the covers and find some space on this half of the narrow mattress.

Emily has shuffled over to the wall to make room but they have to press close together anyway to fit. Hanna's bare legs slide against Emily's, tangling together as she scoots to lie down, and it makes her shiver. She buries her face in Emily's hair and breathes in. Fake mango, the shampoo Emily likes.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, and Emily murmurs something back, and she’s asleep before she means to be.

***

Emily wakes up warm and happy. Something good—a good dream. Yeah. She’d been having a really good dream. She’s warm and the blankets are heavy and a good dream is still flooding her synapses and—

The blankets are _really_ heavy, actually. Her brain blinks more fully online, and suddenly she remembers, all in a rush. Hanna is in her bed. Hanna is draped over her, warm and breathing and god, this is the best morning of Emily’s whole life so far.

Her tank top is just about still in place, which she's glad about—if Hanna's going to see... things, Emily thinks, Emily wants it to be her choice and not a random fashion malfunction.

Her arm is at a weird angle under her pillow so she shifts, and as she does, Hanna stirs, burrowing closer.

Hanna smells amazing from right here. Emily’s the worst in the world at identifying smells—her grandmother despaired of ever teaching Emily how to cook with spices—but she knows what she likes, anyway, and she likes Hanna’s warm morning smell.

Hanna’s thumb starts stroking Emily’s hip, little circles. “Are you awake?” Emily whispers.

Hanna breathes out, soft and sleepy against Emily's skin. Her hair is tickling Emily's neck. "Yeah," she whispers back, voice morning thick. Her thumb keeps moving on Emily's hip, just above the waist of her pj shorts and Emily shivers, her whole attention narrowing down to those few millimetres of skin.

She’s got an arm available to touch Hanna, too, easy with Hanna half on top of her. She can stroke up Hanna’s side, her back, over Hanna’s thin t-shirt.

This feels like it means nothing important has evaporated overnight, but something in her has to know, even if it means pushing. Even if she’s scared to be wrong. “If we rainchecked to later,” she says, and clears her throat, “—uh. Now is later.”

Hanna breathes out hard, her hand stuttering on Emily's skin. "It's definitely later," she says, and tips her face up, peering up at Emily. Even sleep-mussed, she's so freaking gorgeous, and she's in bed with Emily, lying in her arms. "You should—kiss me." Her voice tips up, almost a question, and Emily's heart leaps as she leans, and presses her mouth to Hanna's. She's a little worried about the possibility of her morning breath, but she lets herself forget as Hanna kisses back, soft, and then more heated.

Emily’s doubts about Hanna’s certainty start to be easily forgotten, too, because Hanna’s taking immediate advantage of their positioning to press Emily into the bed and slide one long, soft leg between Emily’s thighs. “Is this okay?” Hanna asks, between kisses.

“Yeah—yeah, it’s—yeah,” Emily manages. She wants to take Hanna’s shirt off. She wants to put her hands in Hanna’s hair, too, so she starts there, winding them in and keeping Hanna where she’s easy to kiss.

Hanna makes a pleased noise and presses closer, and her thigh presses up against Emily through her shorts and it's—it's—so much fucking better than anything she's done before, with any boy. _So gay_ , she thinks, and slides a hand down Hanna's side, and—and Hanna's top is rucked up and she's just wearing panties and Emily's fingers meet soft warm skin at Hanna's waist, and, oh fucking god.

 _I’m going to have sex with Hanna,_ she thinks, giddily. She wants to try _everything._ She’s gotten off so much in this bed, lately, thinking about what this would be like, and it’s already better than anything she imagined.

“Hanna?” she asks, when Hanna moves to start kissing Emily’s neck. “God. That’s—uh—“ She forgets what she was going to say, too focused on the way Hanna’s teeth are lighting up Emily’s whole body.

It makes Emily's breath catch, makes her want to squirm, a hot feeling building low in her belly and between her legs. Hanna isn't holding back: she nips at Emily's pulse point like she did at Emily's mouth at the parties, sharp and teasing, and Emily can't help the sound that comes out of her, breathy and wanting. She's suddenly, achingly aware of how she's not wearing a bra, of how when she arches into Hanna's touch, her breasts rub up against Hanna's, small and round through Hanna's shirt.

She inches her hand up Hanna's skin, and Hanna just keeps kissing her neck. She groans a little when Emily's fingernails catch on her ribcage, and that feels like permission, like it's okay for Emily to reach a little higher, to—oh, god—to stroke the pads of her fingers on the hot, just-damp curve of skin at the bottom of Hanna's breast. They both make noise, that time, and Hanna's head comes up to stare at Emily, her eyes dark and intent.

"You can—" Hanna says, and is interrupted by the strident chiming of a cell phone.

They both freeze. Hanna's hitch of breath moves her chest, and Emily's fingers brush a little higher up, and all Emily wants to do in the world is stay where she is, Hanna's bare thigh undeniable between her legs and the promise of getting to _touch_ right there at her fingertips, and the phone is _still_ ringing and—

"Shit," Emily says, moving to look Hanna in the eye. "Didn't we say we'd—"

Hanna shuts her eyes and groans in a very different way. “Yeah. Yeah. We could just—“

Emily deeply wants to agree, but ... “We’re supposed to run the whole event. I kind of want to be there to plan something we agreed to run.”

Hanna hides her face against Emily's neck. "Me too," she says, and groans again, kicking her feet. It nudges her thigh between Emily's legs again and Emily can't help but gasp. "Okay. Okay, just—there's gotta to be a time limit. I want to—" and she breaks off to kiss Emily, deep and filthy, the phone still chiming in the background. They're both panting when they break apart and Hanna grabs the phone, turns off the alarm.

"We can come back here _right_ after. Right? Like let's eat something, go to the damn meeting, keep it moving, and then—"

"Yeah," Emily agrees, cutting her off. "Yeah, that's—let's do that." She wants it _now_ , but the idea that Hanna wants her so much, too, is sure to get her through the meeting no matter how frustrating it is to have to stop.

Hanna kisses her again, and Emily lets herself sink into it for a minute, letting herself revel in the feel of Hanna lying against her before they have to get up.

Emily turns her back to get changed, feeling herself flush. She doesn't think she's ever been this conscious of her bare skin, knowing that Hanna could turn at any moment and just... see. That she'd _want_ to see.

It feels like a force of will to just get dressed, to actually get her keys and walk out the door with Hanna. "We're super devoted to this fucking club," she mutters to Hanna, and Hanna laughs.

Breakfast—or lunch—whatever a meal is called when it's your first of the day, but at 11:30AM—is a trial. Hanna's right there across the table, glowing and gorgeous. Normally they chatter about everything, but today it's hard to talk about anything at all when Emily's whole brain is just _after the meeting, we're gonna have sex_. From the way Hanna keeps flushing and biting her lips, Emily's pretty sure she's not the only one transfixed by the idea.

She's focusing hard on the conversation round the table, because she really does want their event to go off with a bang, but—it's not the bang she's most interested in right at this exact second.

She catches Hanna's eye by accident when the topic has switched to finance and Emily's attention is wandering, and—god, Hanna's so beautiful, so fucking—jesus, Emily's getting wet, right here in the middle of a planning committee.

Hanna's going to feel that. Hanna's going to, probably, put her hand on Emily and know that Emily wants her so much it gets her wet in public. Maybe Hanna's wet, too. Maybe Emily can peel her out of her jeans and crawl down and—

"Emily? Earth to Emily?" It's Aiden, one of the snottier upperclassmen, waving a hand at her.

Emily didn't drag herself out of bed and away from Hanna to let herself be sniped at by someone who's been late to every other meeting since the start of the semester, upperclassman or not, so she schools her face into something resembling faint disapproval and turns. "I'm listening," she says. "I just don't agree that that's the best way to go."

"Because it isn't," someone else says—Aiden is not particularly well-liked, so that was a pretty safe bet—and then they're all talking again. Emily tries not to tune out again, and sort of manages it, but it feels like six thousand years of distracting secret arousal before the meeting ends. At least Emily's not a guy; nobody can tell she's been thinking about sex for a solid hour.

As they get up from the table and make their way to the door, Hanna's hand brushes against Emily's and Emily feels herself shiver. She's wet enough that she's sure it must be obvious, that she must be walking around with a neon sign. She wonders if Hanna knows.

Apparently she doesn't, because the moment they're alone—turning down a hallway well ahead of the rest of the crowd—Hanna leans in and kisses the side of Emily's neck. "Please tell me you still want to," Hanna says, soft, and Emily almost laughs.

"I want to teleport back to our room," Emily says. "I stopped paying attention to the meeting after the first ten minutes. I hope nothing too important happened. I was just thinking about your—" She stops, because that seems a little too prurient for the hallway of this science building. "Uh, about you."

"Yeah?" There's sound from behind them and they both start walking again, glancing sideways at each other. It's not—it's not that they're hiding anything, more that it all feels too new, too private to let other people see yet. Hanna breathes out, sounding a little shaky. "God, Em. That's—that's so fucking hot."

"It was really hot. Distractingly hot," Emily confirms. "So, like—want to jog back?"

Hanna does. They probably confuse the crowd behind them when they exit the science building and break into a run, but that's okay. Let them be confused.

They make it across campus, and somewhere along the way they start holding hands, giggling with the thrill of it, the sheer anticipation. Hanna fumbles the key in their lock when they reach their door and Emily thinks, hot and sudden, _she wants me_.

That thought makes it easy to fight off the awkwardness that wants to drop over the room as soon as they’re inside, to just move into Hanna’s space and kiss her again. “Hi,” she mumbles, and Hanna laughs and kisses her harder.

Emily pushes them back towards her own bed, where they’d been this morning. She wants to kiss Hanna in a bed that already smells like them.

Hanna hits the bed first and topples backwards, giggling. She doesn't let go of Emily's waist, so they both land together. Hanna's top has ridden up, showing a strip of her stomach, and Emily gives in to impulse and wriggles until she can kiss it, feel it jump under her mouth. She feels daring, and _hot_ , and when she ducks back up, Hanna is kissing rougher, with teeth.

“So, like—super gay?” Hanna asks her, breathless, and Emily leans up to grin down at her.

“Super, super, super gay,” she confirms. “Take your shirt off?”

Hanna laughs, and sits up to tug her shirt over her head, dropping it by the side of the bed. She's—she's so—she's _gorgeous_ , is all Emily can think for a long, frozen second, tan and smooth and beautiful, wearing a soft-looking simple black bralette, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Hanna likes a simpler style than Emily most of the time—Emily's own bra is fussier, lacier, still hidden under her shirt—and she looks unbelievable, unimaginable.

"You look," Emily says, her voice coming out hoarse. "Oh my god, you look—"

Hanna doesn't let her finish the sentence, tugging Emily back down over her. Emily has to brace herself, can't touch Hanna as fully as she wants to, but the kissing—just the kissing, she could do for hours and hours.

Or maybe not, because Hanna's hands are free to move, and they're sure moving. All around Emily's torso, her back, cupping the curve of her ass and—god—fingertips pressing into the space between her thighs, just a little. She doesn't even know if that was intentional, but it felt fucking delicious.

She can't help but shudder forwards, jerking against Hanna, and Hanna digs her fingers in harder, clutching at Emily's ass, holding her close.

Emily's arms are shaking, and she has to lower herself to the bed. They're side by side, curled towards each other, and she gives Hanna a smile, a bit embarrassed. "Kiss me again," she says, so she isn't thinking about how she had to move, so Hanna doesn't think Emily wants to stop. She really fucking doesn't want to stop.

It’s still not exactly right like this, with one arm trapped under her, but at least now both of them can touch. It feels more mutual, now.

Emily wants to touch Hanna only slightly less than she wants to keep breathing. Her bared torso, especially, and, tentatively, the soft fabric of Hanna’s bralette over the swell of one breast.

She's careful, focusing, brushing her fingers over the curve at the bottom of Hanna's breast, up and around the gently sloping side, not quite—and Hanna draws in her breath, shaky and clearly turned on, and says, "You can—you can touch, um, more;" and Emily's heart is pounding, and she does, rubs the pads of her fingers down and down until—there—hard and unmistakable under the soft fabric—Hanna's peaked nipple.

“Oh, boy,” Hanna says, and Emily giggles.

“‘Oh, boy?’ Is that what you’re going with?”

Hanna sticks her tongue out, and Emily leans in to kiss her hard, lets her fingers brush Hanna’s nipple again. Maybe if she gets this really right, Hanna will move up the scale to “gosh golly gee whillikers” or something.

She almost can't believe she's doing this, or that she gets to do this. That Hanna is here, with her, gasping when Emily thinks, _maybe this_ , and pinches lightly, experimentally. Hanna gasping like that is the best thing Emily's ever heard. She's aching between her legs in a way she never has with boys, and definitely not just from making out.

She wants more. “Can I—“ She plucks at the band of the bralette, and Hanna squirms until she can peel out of it, lifting it over her head. The movement bares Hanna in a way that lifts one tantalizing, pink-brown nipple towards Emily’s face.

She’d have to be a totally different person—like the person she was last month—not to lean in and put her tongue there. Hanna sags back against the bed and Emily follows her down, mouth-first.

She's never done this before, never licked over the peak of a girl's nipple, never got to feel it harden further under her tongue. Hanna makes a devastating noise of surprise, and clutches at Emily, tangling her fingers in her hair, keeping her in place.

Emily’s always liked lavishing attention on partners, but before it was to keep from having to do stuff she didn’t feel sure about. Now, she feels very sure she wants everything with Hanna, but she wants to suck on Hanna’s nipple for as long as they both can stand it, first.

Hanna gasps when Emily gives her actual suction. “Oh, fuck.” _That’s_ more like it.

Emily does it again, and then _again_ , testing out an edge of teeth. Hanna swears again, and clutches at her.

"Em, fuck, Em—" and then she's tugging at Emily's shirt. "Take this off," she says, flatteringly out of breath. " _Off_ , I want to touch you."

Emily doesn't want to stop, but she lets Hanna manhandle her—womanhandle her? Is Emily going to have to rethink her verbs?—out of her shirt, and then, like it's a foregone conclusion, out of her fancy lace bra. "I was going to show that off," Emily says, but Hanna's already leaning in to kiss the top curve of one breast, so really, fuck it. She'll have other opportunities. She lets herself roll mostly onto her back, so Hanna can mouth at her, and so Emily can fully let her hands roam the gorgeously exposed half of Hanna.

Hanna's skin is smooth and warm under Emily's hands, and Emily just wants to touch her everywhere, wants to let her hands rest in the curve of Hanna's waist, wants to sweep Hanna's hair over one shoulder and then kiss along her collarbones. She wants to—

"Oh god," she gasps, unexpected, when Hanna's teeth close gently around her nipple. "Oh _fuck_ ," and Hanna brings her head up, grinning.

"Was that okay?" she says, and Emily can't even find the words. She wants to never stop touching Hanna. She wants Hanna's mouth back on her, dear god.

She's had guys play with her breasts before, and it just wasn't very interesting. Maybe a little, around the edges, like a nice tickling sensation, but otherwise—she'd thought she just wasn't into it. Apparently she was wrong about that, too.

"Don't stop?" she asks, and Hanna leans back in. Emily brings her own hands up Hanna's ribcage, fingernails scraping Hanna's skin, and just _enjoys_ it, just lets herself feel good. "I would totally let you go down on me," she murmurs, because it's what she's suddenly thinking about. She sort of means Hanna to hear it, and sort of doesn't.

It's easy to think about, like this, on her back in her bed with Hanna's long hair brushing her skin, with Hanna's hands on her body and Hanna's mouth on her nipple. Hanna could... move lower. Could move her mouth lower. Emily would definitely want that, with her.

Hanna does hear her; she sucks in a breath, loud and cold around Emily’s nipple, kind of exciting in its own way. “Fuck. I think—yeah. Yeah. Can I? I want to try.”

Emily might have guessed, really, that Hanna would be all in with enthusiasm for just about anything, but it’s one thing to imagine. It’s something else entirely for Hanna to be asking to be allowed to—do that. “Yeah. God. I can do you, after, though? Right?”

"Totally," Hanna says, fervently, "If you want to, then, oh my god, yeah." She glances up at Emily's face, and moves back up her body to kiss her. She's so gorgeous, Emily thinks, bare and confident and beautiful. Emily thinks—she thinks how good it is to be doing this with _Hanna_ , who understands her, who looked at her expression and knew she needed to be kissed, who knows that Emily hasn't let anyone do... what they're going to do, before.

“Is it weird that this is kind of like when we went on the orientation trip?” Emily asks.

“I think sleeping with me is way better than sleeping in a tent,” Hanna tells her, grinning. “What, like—doing outdoorsy stuff? Is this a bush joke?”

“No, just—I don’t know. Doing something new, but it’s with you, so of course it’s gonna be awesome.”

Hanna beams at her. "I'm gonna try to make it awesome," she says, and kisses her again. "I want to—I, um-" and she's blushing, uncharacteristic "—want to know what you taste like."

Emily can feel that she’s blushing, but it’s so much less intimidating, the idea of Hanna tasting her. Hanna doesn’t expect her to be a, a silicone fembot or something. Hanna gets it, the reality about—stuff. Body stuff.

Also—also, she wants Hanna to go down on her so much that even if she _was_ nervous, she thinks it might not matter at all, in comparison. “Yeah. God. Me too. I—I really want that. Both, uh. Both ways.”

"Oh my god," Hanna says. "Yeah, let's—let's—" and she's skimming her hands down Emily's sides, resting her slender fingers on the waist of Emily's jeans. Emily feels almost faint with how much she wants this, how close Hanna is to her. Jesus. "Take these off," Hanna says, in a tone that could be a question if Emily wanted it to be, and it's that security, knowing that Hanna's in this with her, there for her whatever she decides, that has Emily going for her fly.

That, and she really wants this. She really fucking—wants this.

Peeling out of skinny jeans is never glamourous but Hanna gets that too, giggling with Emily when Emily has to tug to get them over her heels. She's left in just her panties—cute and pink and small—and she's suddenly aware of just how wet she is, how obvious it's going to be if Hanna opens her legs and looks. Maybe it's already obvious. Maybe Hanna can—smell her. _Jesus_ , Emily thinks, dizzily, and bites her lip against how much she likes that thought. 

“I—wow.”

“Good wow or bad wow?” Emily asks, although she thinks she has a guess.

“Such a—the _best_ wow, Em. Kiss me again.” Hanna leans in, physically underscoring her request, and as Emily meets her mouth, she feels Hanna’s hand moving down her belly. It tickles, and then it—then it’s something else, when Hanna’s fingers brush the low hem of her panties.

Hanna keeps kissing her, and Emily lets herself melt into it, into Hanna's hand on her waist and Hanna's _other_ hand skirting the top of her panties, brushing lower and lower on each pass until she glances over where Emily is soaking through the fabric. Emily gasps, can't help it, and clutches at Hanna. "Oh my god," she says. "You can—do that again?"

“Like—“ Hanna swipes her fingers sideways again, and Emily pants out a shaky breath and spreads her legs wider. Hanna’s fingertips are catching on her clit through the soft, damp fabric, and it feels like nothing else, like the most intense kind of tease.

Emily wants to squirm against the bed, against Hanna's fingers. It's never felt like this before, not with her high school boyfriend. This is—she wants more of this, of Hanna's careful fingers, and she wants Hanna to push her panties aside and _touch_ her.

Emily is new to want this deep, but, god, she likes it.

“Han,” she manages, rocking up against Hanna’s still-stroking fingers. “Han, I—god—“

“I know, baby,” Hanna tells her, stroking more firmly. “I’ll take care of you.”

Hanna’s take-charge side—that’s _exactly_ what’s needed right now, when Emily’s gone fuzzy with want. She nods, fists her hands into the sheets. She’s fully on her back now, and can’t even remember when that happened.

"I'm gonna, um, now," Hanna says, swallowing the words, and Emily nods again, heart beating fast as Hanna moves over her, down her body. She kisses along the hem of Emily's panties before she does anything else and now—god, now she can _definitely_ smell how turned on Emily is, could see, if she glanced down, the damp-dark fabric between Emily's legs. Her cheeks burning, Emily subtly, just slightly, opens her legs for Hanna.

"Don't, um—don't expect me to be too good at this without practice, or anything," Hanna says. It's not like Hanna to admit to vulnerability, and that, more than anything, makes it easy for Emily to let Hanna peel her panties off and get her face right— _there_ , without her own anxieties ratcheting back up.

"You could pretty much do anything right now and I'd like it," Emily tells her. "I swear."

"I'll definitely do something," she says, with a grin, and ducks her head. Emily jumps when she feels Hanna's breath against her, and then, somehow, feels herself blush harder when Hanna, curious, uses her thumbs to part Emily's... to open her, a little, and look.

"Oh my god," Emily says. She can't let go of the sheets. "Oh, god."

The first touch of Hanna's tongue is tiny and soft and unexpectedly _wet_. She'd known—obviously she's aware tongues are wet, but it hadn't occurred to her that she'd notice, given how wet she already is. But it's almost the most noticeable thing, so different from a fingertip.

She squeezes her eyes shut, head back against the bed, hands fisted tight. Just this is already—"God. Hanna, that's—yeah—"

Hanna makes a noise of satisfaction, and licks at Emily again, soft. Emily doesn't think she's ever been this aware of her own clit in her life, or this aware of how it isn't being touched. Hanna has her thumbs keeping Emily exposed, and she's licking just gently where Emily is wettest, and Emily can't catch her breath at all, feels, stupidly, her eyes prickling, overwhelmed.

It's just so—her head is spinning with it. So hot and so new and so vulnerable, and it's _Hanna_ , that's the most important part, her Hanna, wanting to touch her like this. Wanting to taste her. Wanting to get her off. "P-please," Emily chokes out. "Higher?"

Hanna murmurs agreement, and strokes one of Emily's thighs, soothing. Her hair tickles Emily's skin, and she's so _present_ , kneeling between Emily's legs, so intimate. She licks, slowly, up, and up, and then her tongue is on Emily's clit, stroking carefully up it. Emily's hips jerk; she can't help it, and she can't help the sound she makes, raw and transparent.

It's like absolutely nothing else. Not her own hands, not Hanna's finger through her panties, not her shitty bullet vibrator that supposedly doubles as a discreet necklace (false advertising to say the least). It's—Emily didn't know this would feel so completely perfect. Maybe it wouldn't, if it wasn't Hanna, but it is and it does and Emily may die right here from how good this already is.

"I—god, Han—I, that's—" Emily can't find the words, can't find her breath. No one's ever touched her like this before. She's never wanted them to, never wanted to take off her jeans and let someone _see_ , let them undo her like this. But with Hanna—god, she wants Hanna. Her Hanna, winding her up tighter and tighter until Emily's chest is heaving, until she's dizzy and desperate. She reaches out without thinking and puts her hand in Hanna's hair, just wanting the contact. "Sorry," she chokes, and Hanna pulls back for a second, wet-chinned, to say, breathless, "No, it's good, you can."

Emily gulps and keeps her hand there, tries to stroke Hanna's head without pulling. Her hand is shaking—Christ, her whole body is shaking, legs trembling around Hanna's head. She hitches one thigh up higher, heel planted on the bed, and Hanna runs a hand up the inside of it. Hanna casually, possessively touching her like that, when her tongue is starting to get into a rhythm on Emily's clit, is almost too much.

Hanna's doesn't seem shy at all about it now. She seems like she's getting comfortable, like she's—starting to get a feel for it, to trust herself with this.

It's taking everything in Emily to keep herself still when every part of her feels hot and squirmy, restless and yearning. "Han," she pants, "that's—fuck, please, keep going—"

Hanna moans, loud, not so much an answer as just some kind of vocalisation that she _likes_ this. That’s hotter than Hanna’s mouth or her hand, tight now on Emily’s thigh, or the way Hanna groaned when Emily sucked on her nipple.

Keeping her legs open is starting to be difficult, the muscles in her thighs trembling hard with the rest of her. Hanna speeds up, just slightly, gaining more confidence, and Emily gasps, suddenly desperate. "I'm," she manages, and she can't keep her hips still now no matter how much tries. "Oh, fuck, Han— _Han_ —"

Hanna groans, the vibration of it light but startling, and only Hanna’s hand on her thigh keeps Emily from squeezing both legs around Hanna’s head. She feels uncontrolled, frantic, shuddering with every touch. “I—please—“

She’s so close; she feels like it’s so good she might skate right past into some whole new realm of sensation.

Hanna groans again, louder, her hand tightening on Emily's thigh, and Emily's coming before she even realises it, panting out sounds she's never heard herself make. It feels like it lasts and lasts, like the whole world has narrowed down to the pressure of Hanna's tongue on her clit and the press of Hanna's nails against her skin.

She goes lax, finally, and wriggles up and away from Hanna, too sensitive now. Hanna looks up at her, and Emily sees a gleam around her mouth, on her cheeks.

“Holy shit,” she says, voice gravelly. “Let me do you?” 

Hanna nods, flushed and dark-eyed, sitting up on her heels. Her chest is flushed too, her nipples hard in a way that makes Emily want to suck on them again, to make Hanna sound like she did before.

"That was so—" Hanna says, and moves back up for a kiss. Emily can taste herself in Hanna's mouth and it makes her shudder, not quite an aftershock but not quite _not_. She could maybe go again, she thinks, and can't quite believe it. She might need it again. "You're amazing," Hanna tells her, between kisses. "That was so cool."

“Cool” is not exactly the word Emily’s thinking of, but she can go with it. She kisses back, hard, and sneaks a hand between them to tweak one of those hard nipples. Hanna bites Emily’s lip in response, and suddenly everything is dialled back up to eleven. Emily wrestles them over until Hanna’s on her back, head near the foot of the bed, and kisses her neck, her shoulder, her clavicle.

“Stop teasing,” Hanna tells her, breathless, and Emily grins and kisses lower, up the curve of one breast and up to the waiting nipple.

It's so _good_ , hasn't stopped being amazing, the way she can run her tongue around Hanna's nipple and suck and get Hanna to whimper, shifting on the bed. Emily's thighs are slick and wet and she still feels like she wants to jam a hand between her legs, rock against it while Hanna clutches at her back.

"You're still wearing pants," Emily says, pulling back. "Let's—don't be wearing pants."

“Uh, sold,” Hanna agrees, and tries to get herself out of them. It’s a struggle to stay back long enough to let her; Emily’s eyes track Hanna’s body, and she aches to keep touching.

Hanna peels out of her panties, too, and suddenly she’s naked and right there and Emily has to touch. She runs a hand up Hanna’s thigh and Hanna spreads them, inviting.

Probably it's rude to, like, stare, but Emily can't help it: Hanna's legs are open, and Emily can see _everything_ , can see how Hanna's... how Hanna is flushed dark pink between her legs, how there's a shine there because she's _wet_ , wet from eating Emily out. "Fuck," Emily breathes, and reaches out to touch. "Can I?" she asks, her fingers a breath away from Hanna's skin, and Hanna lets out a shaky noise and says, "Please, yeah, please."

Hanna feels incredible to her fingertips, somehow. Emily knows fingertips are full of nerve endings, but she’d never thought that meant _this_ , meant that stroking up the wet center of Hanna could jolt in her own belly. “Wow,” she says, and then, “Can I, like—inside? Do you like that?”

“Yeah,” Hanna says, and Emily pushes a finger into her, slow and easy. Hanna groans. “More? That’s—please.”

Emily has to pull her finger out in order to line up another finger too, uncoordinated and unsure of her angles, but she does it. Hanna feels so _tight_ around her, hot and wet and tight, and when Emily crooks her fingers, experimenting, Hanna whimpers, squeezing around Emily. This is—this is better than Emily could have ever imagined, Hanna laid out and gasping, Emily getting to touch her like this, see her like this. Make her feel like this.

She can’t quite get her thumb on Hanna’s clit, but it seems clear she should be able to, if she moves down a bit so her elbow can bend more. Just before she moves, though, Hanna gasps again, wetter, says, “That, just like that, hard—harder!”

Emily didn’t think she’d done anything, just kept crooking her fingers, but she keeps it up, harder and a little faster. It feels kind of nice, inside Hanna. Spongy-soft, like the fancy kind of memory foam. Except memory foam doesn’t, in Emily’s experience, squeeze back.

Hanna's thighs are trembling, Emily notices, amazed. "Please," Hanna says, her voice wobbling. She sounds fucking amazing. When Emily glances up, away from her fingers disappearing into the hot press of Hanna's body, there's a flush all up Hanna's chest, her neck. Her face keeps screwing up like she might be in pain, but Emily can tell it's really, really not that. "Keep—Em, oh my god, keep—yeah—"

Emily wants to taste her, meant to, but it's so clear Hanna needs more of this, of Emily's fingers pressing into her. Emily wants Hanna to have fucking anything she wants, anything in the whole damned world, and certainly anything Emily can give her so easily.

Hanna's so open that Emily works a third finger into her, more confident now, and keeps rhythmically pressing and stroking where she is. It's not really a fucking gesture, like Emily might have thought would be best, but it's impossible to question how much it's working for Hanna.

Emily hasn't done this a lot for herself—the angle is kind of weird, she finds, and it gets messier than just a quick jerk off under the sheets—but, fuck, she could do this for Hanna forever. Hanna keeps clenching down around her fingers and she's making these little sounds, gasps, whenever Emily rubs a certain place. "Em," Hanna says, kind of high-pitched, "Em, I—keep—you're gonna make me—"

“Really?” Emily blurts out, before she thinks better of it, excited and surprised. She’s pretty sure this wouldn’t get _her_ off, even with Hanna doing it. “Ye—yeah,” Hanna gasps, and then, “Em!”

"Oh my god," Emily says, blown away, keeping her fingers moving, "oh my god," and Hanna's back arches, and she tightens down around Emily so hard it almost hurts for a second. Her face is all screwed up and she's _coming_ , Emily's making her _come_.

Hanna grabs for her wrist, fingers tight; Emily’s all ready to pull away, but Hanna’s holding her there, keeping her fingers pushed tight up inside. “God,” Emily groans, and keeps moving her fingers the way Hanna clearly needs her to. It’s like Hanna’s riding a long wave of orgasm, like it’s still rolling through her. It’s—wow.

Hanna relaxes back down to the bed, breathing hard, and then giggles, covering her face. "Wow," she says. "Oh—" and twitches again, like an aftershock. She lets go of Emily's wrist; Emily can't stop staring at her, amazed. Amazed and really fucking into it.

“Would—“ Hanna still sounds giggly, euphoric. “Would it be super unreasonable to ask—it’s just so good, I’m not ready to be done yet?”

“That’s so not unreasonable.” Emily’s pretty sure she sounds as sincere and enthusiastic as she feels. “That’s, like. So hot.”

She swallows. "What—what do you want? What can I do?" 

Hanna reaches down and tugs her back up for a kiss, catching Emily off balance so they end up sprawled over each other, skin to skin. "This first," Hanna says, and Emily slips her leg between Hanna's for balance and then shivers when Hanna grinds up against it, wet and messy. Hanna must be able to, to, feel how wet Emily is too. She's making just as much a mess of Hanna's thigh too.

It’s not exactly what she wants, Hanna’s thigh, but it’s so good for what it is, and it feels mutual in a way everything else hasn’t quite. She likes that. She thinks—not today, but sometime, they could probably both get each other off like this, kissing with Hanna’s fingers on her clit and her fingers inside Hanna. 

She can picture it, the two of them working each other up at the same time, maybe rocking together with the effort. It makes her think about what else they could do, later, things they could try. A strap-on, maybe, if she was feeling brave enough to buy one.

There's—sixty-nines, that's a thing. A thing Emily had always contemplated with distaste, but now it seems entirely different, and better. Or Hanna lying behind her, curled up with her, reaching around to rub Emily's clit. There's, god, there's lots of things they could do. Emily kisses Hanna harder, wanting all of it, all at once, and Hanna makes a sharp pleasure noise.

Hanna seems so much more sensitive than Emily—or, no, sensitive isn't the word. She gets off from less stimulation than Emily needs, or at least she has done so far, and Emily just—she wants to _taste_ Hanna, just as much as she never wants to move from here, pressing Hanna into the bed.

She's kissing back down, already thinking about it, when Hanna says, "Oh—oh, fuck, keep—" again, and Emily's not going to stop when Hanna sounds, somehow, close again, just from grinding against her leg. "Em—Emily, can you—your fingers, please?"

Emily slips her fingers down between Hanna's legs, fumbling. Hanna is so _wet_ , and she feels so... open, Emily thinks, open is the word, like all she needs in the world is Emily to be touching her. "Inside?" Emily asks, breathless. "Is that—is that what you need?"

" _Yes_!" Hanna says, not sharp, just insistent. Needy. God, Emily wants to hear that tone again from her every single fucking day for the rest of time. She wants to be able to just slip her fingers in, so easy, and curl them until Hanna gasps and grabs Emily's shoulder so hard her nails scrape Emily's skin.

She's tightening down already, squeezing hard around Emily's fingers, and her breathing is ragged, edging towards frantic. "Em," she says, "god, keep—fuck— _fuck_ —"

Emily keeps it up. Her fingers ache, a little, but it doesn't matter; she wants to keep Hanna feeling this good, this loud and needy and happy, as long as they can both stand it. "You're so hot, Han," she says, leaning in to kiss Hanna's stomach, the soft warm underside of her breast. "You're so fucking hot, I can't even stand it."

Hanna groans happily, hips jerking up. Emily loses her rhythm for a second but picks it back up fast, pressing just where Hanna needs. It's already familiar, already something Emily wants to sink back into again and again. "So hot," she says again, kissing Hanna's belly again, "so—so fucking hot, just like this, oh my god."

It seems incredible and impossible that there was a time Emily wasn’t sure she wanted this, a time she had no idea she did. It’s so fucking good. It’s so fucking— _everything_ , the best things all wrapped up in one.

"I'm," Hanna says, high and breathy, and then she is, letting out her breath in a quick staccato, shuddering. It seems to last as long as the first time, and Emily keeps her fingers moving, keeps watching, amazed, as Hanna's pretty face screws up, as her stomach muscles flutter and tense.

“I love you,” Emily says, for she thinks maybe the first time since Hanna came back. Maybe not. Emily’s always found affection easy; she doesn’t really think about it. She’s thinking about it now, though, because the intensity is flooding her. She loves Hanna so much. “Do you want me to keep going?” she asks, and Hanna groans. 

“Yes? No. No. We have, like. We should eat. You get crabby when you’re hungry.” She says it with a smile, and Emily ruefully smiles back. She pulls her fingers out, gently, and Hanna shuts her eyes and has one more minor shudder.

Emily looks at her fingers for a second: they're shiny, wet with, with _Hanna_. "I," she says, feeling herself blush already, and then just does it, sucks two fingers into her mouth and _tastes_.

It zings through her. It’s not a _good_ flavor exactly, but it’s complex, intriguing. Like her preferred liquor, sort of: an acquired taste that Emily wants, very much, to acquire. She wants to be a fucking devotee of this flavor. She wants to dream about it. “God,” she says. “You taste perfect.”

Hanna nudges her with her knee, giggling. "No, I don't," she says, "shut up," but she looks so pleased, grinning.

“You do,” Emily says. “Kiss me?” Hanna leans up and pulls Emily to her, using a lot more tongue than before, like she really is seeking out her own taste in Emily’s mouth.

Emily shudders, hot all over, and clutches onto Hanna, holding the two of them together. They had _sex_. She made Hanna _come_. She shudders, again, happily, and kisses back harder, just because she can.

“I want to take you to dinner,” she says, and leans in to kiss Hanna again before Hanna can respond. “Like—like off campus. That Chinese place that gets all dim and cozy for dinner, with the heart candles, you remember?” For once it’s Emily not letting Hanna get a word in edgewise. “I want to take you there. Get all dressed up and, and hold hands on the table. So everybody can—“ 

She falters, suddenly unsure. “Unless, um.” Unless this is just in here. She hasn’t even asked, has she?—if Hanna’s willing to be public. To be _out_.

She hasn't thought about it. She just—she just assumed, and maybe—maybe Hanna doesn't—

"Yeah," Hanna says, beaming at her. She looks soft and pleased, and strokes Emily's side with her thumb, where her hand is resting. "So everyone can see."

***

"Is everyone alright with having lunch here later?" Hanna's mom says, brightly. "I always think, you know, it's not really a trip to Ikea if you don't get Swedish meatballs!"

Emily's mom—"Call me Marnie!", she keeps saying—nods excitedly. "I think that, too! Don't I always say that, Emily?"

"You do," Emily agrees. Hanna feels Emily's hand seeking hers out, threading their fingers together and squeezing, as if to say _moms, amirite?_

Hanna doesn't have to turn round to know that, behind them, her mom is nudging Marnie. 

Neither of them were really worried about what their parents would say when they told them, not really, not in any way that had any basis in reality, but Hanna doesn't think they could have expected this: their moms bonding over the pair of them holding hands, cooing like Hanna and Emily are making all their nesting dreams come true.

Or maybe, Hanna thinks, looking fondly sideways at Emily as she stops to pick up a stuffed toy shaped like a mouse in a hat, she should have guessed.

“Stuffed animals are not on the list,” Hanna says, and Emily lifts the mouse to cover her mouth and does a squeaky voice. “But look how cute I am!”

"Oh my god," Hanna says. She's smiling, despite herself: Emily always makes her smile. "Don't do this to me."

"Do what?" Emily-as-mouse squeaks. "Be adorable? I can't help it!"

Hanna’s face is hot; she can feel just how widely and ridiculously she’s smiling. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m your _sister_ ,” Emily says, and then makes a face. “Okay, no, that sounds bad. I’m your sorority, uh, companion.” 

“Sorority roommate,” Hanna says with relish. “Sorority future co-president.”

“Better,” her mom agrees. Hanna definitely did not mean for any of that to be heard by their moms.

Emily squeaks again, wiggling the mouse, getting Hanna's attention back. "I want to live with sorority future co-presidents! Maybe I'm cute _and_ ambitious!"

Hanna grabs the mouse, laughing. "The mouse can stay," she says. "Oh my god. Is the whole trip going to be like this?" She doesn't mind at all, and knows Emily knows. She loves this, Emily lighting up, playing around the way she only does when she feels comfortable. Comfortable, even with both their moms watching like they think Hanna or Emily might propose any second and they're not going to miss it.

That's not exactly what Hanna has planned for the year, or for this trip, or for this weekend. Hanna and Emily are a tour de force, it turns out. Together, they can do fucking anything. She's not kidding about the sorority co-presidents; she's not sure they couldn't run the whole damned world.

Emily meets her eyes like she's thinking the exact same thing, the corner of her mouth quirking up. Hanna wants to kiss her in front of this whole damn IKEA—but maybe not in front of their moms.

"Okay," Emily's mom says brightly. "Onward and upward! Follow the arrows on the floor!"

Hanna finds Emily's hand again, and squeezes it. When the moms start moving towards some room set-ups, she takes her chance, and kisses Emily with the mouse puppet still in one hand. "Onward and upward," she says, and Emily smiles.


End file.
